


What is Hidden in Snow

by Carleen



Series: Tales From the Hold [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Brynjolf - Freeform, Dovahkiin - Freeform, Dovahkiin romance, Elder Scrolls: V, F/M, Fantasy Romance, Gen, Skyrim - Freeform, Skyrim video game, ralof - Freeform, ulfric stormcloak - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carleen/pseuds/Carleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vika met her long lost mother and father. Now, as she continues her adventures, Ulfric Stormcloak sends her to help sack the town of Whiterun. Ulfric has other plans for the Dovahkiin as well. She just doesn't know about them yet. What will she think about those plans & will it matter to Ulfric? This is a stand alone story, & sequel to To Take a Tree From the Forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What is Hidden in Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SERIES: Skyrim - Skyrim Adventures  
> Story 1: To Take a Tree From the Forest  
> Story 2: What is Hidden in Snow  
> Story 3: Starfire  
> Vika

* * *

"Det som göms i snö, kommer fram vid tö"

Translation: "What is hidden in snow, is revealed at thaw" Swedish Proverb

* * *

 

Along a lonely track of icy road a winter storm chases a lone horse and rider toward the ancient stone city of Windhelm. The snow swirls and eddies around the churning powerful hooves, as the horse plows easily through fresh powder. East of the city, the storm whips the snow and ice into spinning funnels of blinding white.

Impatient to beat the storm the rider pulls the horse off the path and into the trees. Everyone in Skyrim, down to the smallest child knows the perils of venturing off the road. The rider is either very brave or dangerously impudent as they climb the last hill toward the stable its old stones rimed with frost. Under the low hanging branches the rider clings to the horse's back with the skill of someone born in a saddle.

With an eye on the weather and nose to the wind, farmers rounded up their herds and headed indoors to their fires. Wolves circled and trod down the last of the colorful autumn leaves and old snow to make warm beds for themselves. The birds quieted and the rabbits huddle together under the safety whatever shelter they could find. The snow blanketed the land around Windhelm and everything went still and waited.

Inside the city, shopkeepers closed up their stalls and mothers called their children inside. While in the banqueting hall of the Palace of Kings, The Jarl of Windhelm paces the length of this hall and waits patiently for the messenger to arrive.

With a kick and a shout the rider urged the tired horse the last yards toward the haven of warmth and food. When the sweet scent of hay tickled his sensitive nose he extended his long powerful legs to reach the stone barn. In the stable yard, the rider pulled him to a sliding stop. The horse churned up a path of muddy snow behind his large hooves. Jumping quickly and gracefully the ground, the rider tossed two gold Septims to the stable boy.

"One is for the stable master and the other for you," she grinned with a warmth that melted the ice from the air.

He caught the coins midair, and with an answering grin, lifted his cap to bid the rider welcome to Windhelm. He doesn't need to see what's under the wool and leather to know this is Vika, the Dragonborn. Last summer, he personally watched her kill a dragon almost entirely by herself. He'd wanted to help, but his mother dragged him inside to the safety of their cabin. Since that day he'd harbored dreams of the dragonborn.

Perhaps next summer he will be old enough to ride with the beautiful redhead and maybe kill a dragon or two himself. That they would make a formidable team he had no doubt. But these are just the dreams of a stable boy. He had horses to feed and water to draw before he could head indoors out of the storm. He watched Vika run toward the gates before reluctantly turning back to her horse.

Vika sprinted over the bridge and took the snow covered stone steps two at a time as she hurried toward Ulfric Stormcloak's palace. The guards nod to her in greeting. Townsfolk wave and their conversations turn to the stories they'd heard about her latest adventures. One of the guards, winked at her with his dirty whiskers stretched over rotten teeth. She simply shook her head and hurried on. He always asked her to enchant his sword. She would be happy to do it if it wasn't for the fact she'd been warned about what he really meant by sword.

She's also been warned about Ulfric Stormcloak. That didn't stop her headlong rush to get to his side. Perhaps, she should know better. Perhaps, she does know better, but after a year of adventuring and hunting dragons she isn't afraid of anything. If he's arrogant and smug then he's no different from any other man or mer she's met on the road.

Although she is still innocent of the ways between a man and woman, she finds most men arrogant and manipulative. This has placed an edge of cynicism in her that she wears like a shield. If she's past the age for marriage and children, she reminds herself that she is much too busy for a man in her life. Except, of course, her father. Her father is Brynjolf, the head of the Thieves Guild and an advisor to the Jarl of Riften.

As father and daughter kinships go, they are very close. Their relationship is based on the fact that for ten years of her life she'd been raised in the Imperial City by adoptive parents. When they met again she was almost an adult. In a series of events whose memory still brings tears to her eyes, she gained a father and Brynjolf rekindled the lost love of the woman who was her birth mother. Suddenly, she had a family. A real family. It was more than enough for now. Their bond is deep and loving, he relies on her to help him with the Guild and she comes to him for advice or a strong shoulder.

She's been here many times, so the path to the Palace of the Kings is familiar to her. By completing the odd job or important quest, as either the Dragonborn or a Stormcloak soldier, Vika increased her importance to Ulfric. With each successful commission Ulfric had drawn her further into his inner court. He'd honored her by making her his Thane and she'd purchased property here in the city. A large stone house, that had once been the lair of a murderer. After she'd solved the crime, he'd offered her the house and assisted her with having it cleaned and aired. Ulfric seemed to take great pleasure helping her furnish the hall.

He'd charmed her with his attentive help decorating the house. A few pieces he donated came directly from the palace. Handsome and masculine, Ulfric took her breath away and she often found herself feeling inexperienced and unsure around him. Although she tries her best, her legs tremble as she strides the length of the great table. There is also serious work she must accomplish while she is here. Vika takes a breath and schools herself to remain, at least on the outside, unflustered.

He knows why she's here, of course. Scouts reported seeing her on the road to Windhelm an hour ago. He's also aware that Whiterun has fallen to his Stormcloak soldiers. But he wants to watch her face flush with the telling. There's a certain shine to her eyes when she's excited or happy. If there's one thing Ulfric learned in his years of exile it's patience. He intends for this scheme to play out naturally. No reason to rush. They had all winter.

When he rose from his throne, she stopped at the end of the table. Vika would do just about anything to earn a smile from this man. So her heart responded by thumping against her ribs and her skin tingled with anticipation. With a wolf-like grin spread across his face, Ulfric approached her slowly. Head and shoulders taller than her, the blond Nord towered over her with his charisma and rugged features.

He waited for her to tell him the news he already knows. Her eyes are bright and cheeks are flushed with excitement and a little of it, he assures himself, is for him.

Ulfric held out his hands to her, "Victory, my Dragonborn?"

"Whiterun is yours, Ulfric! The Jarl surrendered," her voice betrayed her excitement.

She was a beauty. Bright ice blue eyes, hair as red as a sunset. Straight white teeth and lips begging for a kiss. He wondered idly if she'd ever been kissed before. Would she fight him if he tried? Would she say yes if he asked her to stay?

He prevented her from answering by lifting her into the air and swinging her around. Then with his eyes on her and his large hands holding her firmly, he held her against him just a little longer than was polite. With his large hands spread over her back he let her slide slowly down his body to the stone floor.

Talos! He swore, as his blood heated, while his hands spread over her with the possessives sureness of a man who knows what he wants. He is aroused by the simple touch of her youthful body against his and the innocent trust in her eyes. Perhaps she wouldn't fight him. Her beauty caught at him and he pulled her into his arms to find those answers. Until, from behind them, Jorleif the Jarl's advisor cleared his throat.

With a wave of his hand Ulfric shouted for servants to take her to the women's wing and allow her to bathe.

"Give her some of that spiced wine. Come gentlemen have more drink. We will wait for the Dovahkiin to join us for dinner and allow her to tell us stories of our brave soldier's victories."

Exhausted, cold and hungry, she shook off the strange feeling of Ulfric's possessiveness. Women clucked and cackled around her like hens as Vika allowed them to escort her down a long corridor. With her between them they entered a small room dominated by a stone tub and a fireplace. They stripped her of the sodden garments and assisted her into the high-sided tub. The water steamed and Vika allowed her tired body to melt into the fragrant water.

One of the ladies took a piece of soap and a square of linen to Vika's blood and dirt encrusted arms. Another began to comb the ash and dust out of her long red hair. Accustomed to bathing in frigid streams, this decadence reminded her of home when she could bathe like this every day and soak as long as she cared to.

One of the younger girls giggled, "You're very pretty, lady. But no man will want a woman who has more muscles than himself, or — forgive me, lady — more scars."

"Why would any of that matter?" Vika asked not really caring about the answer, because she was drifting between the water warming her bones and the fragrant air. The sensuous pulling of a comb through her hair and the gentle washing of her skin.

The women withdrew quietly when she dozed off. The dreams aroused by the scented water and the gentle touches of the women, sent a frisson of sensations rushing across her naked body. The memories of the night her shield brother Vilkas' kissed her surfaced. She remembered how nice his arms felt around her, how everything in the world, except for the two of them had faded away. A hard ach, centered deep in her belly made her shift restlessly. She would very much like to be kissed again.

She felt a finger trace across the part of her breast that was visible just above the water.

"Is that smile for me?" He asked, his chuckle sending shock waves over her bare skin. She gasped and pulled herself upright only to find herself alone and naked with the Jarl. She noticed him staring at her breasts and quickly covered them with her arms.

"Do not fear me little Dragonborn. You are my bravest warrior," he commented quietly and with his fingers he gently brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. "You take on dragons, the Dark Brotherhood and anything else that crosses your path. Vika, I intend to put myself in your path. Are you brave enough to take on Ulfric Stormcloak?"

An experienced woman would understand Ulfric's intentions. Whether she would welcome them or not is another matter. The seventeen year old Vika is thinking that he has kind eyes and there was no reason to be nervous. The young girl who spent more time chasing dragons, averting disasters and learning fighting skills knows little about his intentions.

The steamy lilac scented water swirled with the masculine scent of the blond man in front of her. This was the man who would save Skyrim from the Imperials and return Talos worship to her people. She'd escaped from the brutality of her home and accepted her destiny as the Dovahkiin. She was a woman now. Wasn't she? So if a woman's needs lifted her arms away from her chest and toward the handsome virile man leaning over the tub then she had a right to him. Didn't she?

A chuckle rumbled from Ulfric's chest and she felt his hands on her bare shoulders. Yes, she decided. She wanted to be kissed in exactly the same way Vilkas had kissed her that night in the Inn. When she held her mouth up for the kiss, what she didn't expect to feel were Ulfric's hands slid under her legs to lift her from the water.

This wasn't like the kiss she'd shared with her shield brother. This made her feel excited and out of control like when she stood against a dragon, or walking alone in a dark cavern with the creaking-clanking sound of draugr ahead. This was not what she imagined. This was naked in a man's arms. Vika twisted out of his arms and snatched a linen towel from the nearby stool she to cover herself.

"Stop!"

"Careful," Ulfric is staring at her. Watching as patches of wet skin soak through the linen to reveal her youthful flesh. "I would not want you to make the mistake of using your Voice on me."

"You attempted to take more than was offered, sir."

Ulfric sat back on his heels and observed the indignant woman-girl before him. She was obviously not the usual Skyrim peasant. He'd underestimated her, but he would not do so again.

"Where were you raised? Not in Riften, as my spies reported."

Vika raised her chin at him, draping the linen towel around herself as if it was the richest of silk robes, "Jarl, if you'll allow me to complete my bath, I will join you downstairs and answer anything you wish to know about me."

He hadn't survived this long without knowing when to retreat. But there was still that kiss. Without touching her, Ulfric bent over and brushed his lips over hers. Desire shot through him when she sucked in a breath and he felt her mouth relax.

"Careful little Dovahkiin there is more to a man than a simple kiss. Soon you will learn to kiss me like a woman who wishes her man to know she wants him."

"I-I don't know what you mean…"

"I can tell," he chuckled. "Don't keep deprive us of your charms too long."

Her knees gave out as she watched him stride out of the chamber. This was not a dragon, a draugr, or a new spell to learn, but a man full grown. She landed with a thump on the stool next to the tub.

Thirty minutes later she entered the banquet hall dressed in a simple gown of green velvet overlaid with a surcoat of black leather trimmed with colorful bands of silk embroidery. Her red hair hung down her back as befitted a maiden. Over her head a simple cap of matching green velvet. All heads turned when she entered the room. One by one the men approached her with an offer of wine or company in the company vying to gain her attention. She ignored all of them and moved gracefully to Ulfric's side.

Oh, to be clean and dressed in pretty clothes again, she thought enjoying the feel of a skirt over her ankles. This court was much like her parent's home. A graceful world she knew and where she felt comfortable. A place where education and the arts were supported and encouraged. Every night after supper there was dancing or storytelling and she always participated.

Before she took Ulfric's offered arm she sank into a curtsey, "Thank you, My Jarl for your hospitality and kindness. It's good to be dressed appropriately and back in sophisticated company."

He gallantly kissed her hand before leading her to the place of honor at the table.

"You're most welcome, Lady Vika."

The feast began, when Ulfric speared a large slice of venison from the platter. The Jarl gallantly served her himself and gave her the choicest cuts of meat from his own plate. A fact which did not go unnoticed by the guests. If Vika understood what it meant, she ignored it. The dress was too pretty, her escort too handsome for anything to spoil her fun. She wondered if there would be dancing or singing after supper? Ulfric gave her a sip of spiced wine from his own cup before he answered her.

"What is your wish, My Lady?" He asked, leaning over her, his arm across her shoulder and his fingers straying as he enjoyed the sight of her breasts swelling above the soft material of her dress.

"Well, I would enjoy a dance. But storytelling is my favorite."

"Then you shall have both."

Ulfric clapped his hands and the bards took their places. The song was lively and funny with innuendo, which was lost on Vika. When one of the bards finished his song, he inquired a silent question toward Vika and she nodded her consent.

"My lord Ulfric. Your lovely lady is known to me. We studied at the Bard's College together. Perhaps if you were to ask her she might sing a song to soothe our war-weary hearts.

The bard handed her a cup of wine to warm her throat and gallantly made a place for her to sit. Another bard handed her his lute. The hall went silent as Vika's delicate fingers danced over the strings.

"We drink to our youth, and to days come and gone

For the age of oppression is now nearly done

We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own

With our blood and our steel we will take back our home

All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!

In your great honor we drink and we sing

We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives

And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!

But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean

Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams"

Everyone pounded the table and shouted the last two lines of the song. When the cheering finally stopped and the blush cooled from her cheeks, Ulfric found his way to her side and raised her hands to his lips. The crowd cheered again.

Heads nodded and words whispered as they watched the striking couple. What better choice could Ulfric make than the Dovahkiin herself? She was known and loved throughout Skyrim and the match would be celebrated from Markarth to Riften. After all, a man needed a wife and these two made a handsome couple. She was beautiful and healthy and would give Ulfric many fine sons to help rule Skyrim.

Vika knew none of this. She felt only the enjoyment of singing and the feel of fine clothes on her skin. The attention of educated men, well prepared food and good wine. The young Nord girl laughed out loud and felt the weight of her destiny slip from her shoulders. Tonight was a reminder of simpler times. To gain their attention she strummed the opening notes to a well known drinking song.

"Drink, for the wind blows cold and

Drink for The Wolf runs free.

Drink to the ships with the sails like wings and

Drink to the storm-tossed seas.

~o~

Drink to the lasting nights

and those who warm our beds.

Drink to the mead that warms our hearts,

and the cold that clears our head.

~o~

Drink to the All Father's Eye

for sons of Talos are we.

Drink to the World-Tree where he hung

and the Runes of Mystery

~o~

Drink to the truth of steel

and blood that falls like rain.

Drink to Sovngard's golden walls

and to our kinsmen, slain.

~o~

Drink to the Glory-field

where a man embraces death, and

thank the gods that we live at all

with our joyous dying breath!

~o~

Drink for the wind blows cold and

Drink for the Wolf runs free

Drink to the ships with the sails like wings

for sons of Talos are we!"

As each of the guests picked up a verse, to be sung in a round Ulfric pulled Vika into his arms and danced with her around the banquet table. The guests roared their approval. Holding her so close her feet were barely touching the floor, he spun her around and around. Until all she could see was his handsome face smiling down at her. His strong hands around her trim waist and the thrilling to the effect the beat of the drum and lute hand on her body.

Under the sound of clapping and singing, the Jarl expertly maneuvered Vika into the battle room. Filling his hands with her fiery hair he kissed her deeply. He'd wanted to be alone with her since she entered the palace. He didn't ask for permission and didn't stop kissing her until her hands were gripping his shirt.

"Show me, little Dovahkiin. Show me that you want this as much as I do." Ulfric breathed against her neck, sinking his teeth into the pale flesh below her ear.

Her cry was lost in the sound of singing and merry-making. The room spun around her. Ulfric had her backed against the wall so her vision was filled with his broad shoulders and a handsome face. Both taller and heavier than her, his virile demeanor suddenly frightened her.

Large hands dug into her upper arms as the dress was pulled off her shoulders. The foraging mouth travelled down her neck moving aside the fabric still in his way. His hot wet mouth sucked at the upper curve of her breast. Her breasts were bare now. The chill air puckered her nipples as he pulled away and bent down to reach for them. With her arms trapped against her side in the velvet fabric. She couldn't raise her hands she couldn't cast a spell to stop him. Something was keeping her from calling for help.

Shout, you silly fool! The voice!

But nothing worked. The power of her Thu'um was silent and unreachable. Her legs would not hold her upright. Her hands could only claw at the fabric of the dress. The room stopped spinning, but the candlelight gutted and smeared painful shards of light against her eyes. All the light and heat was being sucked from the room. She could no longer tell if her eyes were opened or closed. Vika opened her mouth to scream, but there was no air in her lungs.

Somewhere close by a man uttered a curse and yelled, "What is this...manner of magic…?"

Her last thought was of Ulfric crashing against her and pulling them down to the stone floor pinning her beneath him.


	2. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

"Att våga är att tappa fotfästet en stund, att inte våga är att förlora sig själv." —Swedish Proverb

Translation: "To dare is to lose your foothold for a moment, to not dare is to lose yourself."

* * *

 

In Riften, Keerava rose with the sun and remembered today was Skyrim Apple Dumpling Day. Once she got the Bee and Barb open for customers, she left Talen-Jei in charge and headed down to Ingun's Alchemy Shop.

After evidence revealed that the Elgrims had a hand in assisting Maven Black-Briar keeping Ingun drugged, they'd been exiled. The Jarl granted Ingun ownership of the shop. Ingun had turned the business around and now it was one of the busiest shops in The Rift. She'd even begun to accept apprentice alchemists. Since she lived with her husband in Honeyside, the living quarters in the shop created ample space for classrooms.

When Keerava opened the front door it was to discover Brynjolf passionately kissing his wife. Ingun's carefully braided hair was tangled in Brynjolf's hands, while Ingune tried to keep a hold on the mortar and pestle she was using to crush some dried snowberries. Ingun was playing a losing game, while Brynjolf tried to move her hands to his waist. They never heard the door open or close.

Each time she tried to ignore him, he would kiss her again. When she lost track of the ingredients for the third time she gave Brynjolf a playful shove. "If you would stop distracting me, I'd be finished by now. I think I hear the Jarl calling you, should go."

"I'm very busy," he whispered and kissed her again, moving his mouth to nibble on her earlobe. "Kiss me properly wench and I'll leave you to your potions. I reserve the right to dominate your time later though."

"I have an idea. With Vika in Windhelm why don't we try out that tub you made for her… Oh! Good morning, Keerava!"

Ingun grabbed his beard and kissed him hard and quick, "Out!"

Chuckling the whole way, Brynjolf exited the alchemy shop with his head high and a grin which spoke of future plans. "Careful Keerava. She's in a mood."

"I'd say you're the cause of it, Bryn," she snapped with her throaty voice. But there was no bite to it.

Ingun watched her husband saunter out of her shop. Gods, how she loved him. He'd need a thorough bath tonight. She shivered when she thought about his wet soapy hands on her. She lost count again. Damn! The potion could wait until tomorrow.

"What can I do for you, Keerava?" Ingun asked pushing her hair back from her face.

"Today is Skyrim Apple Dumpling Day. I want to make a batch and use some of that expensive cinnamon you had on hand last month. That is, if you still have it. "

"I do. Here you go." Ingrun scooped a double helping of the rare spice into a stone jar and sealed it closed with wax. She held up her hand when Keerava offered her payment. "On the house. I insist. You're a good friend, Keerava."

"You don't have to do that...well, with winter here...you and Bryn come by at supper time. I'll have a tart ready for each of you. It's good to see both of you so happy, Ingun. Although, he's behaving no better than a boy with his first crush, his happiness is genuine."

Ingun came around the counter and hugged the surprised Argonian. "Thank you, Keerava. We are happy. Happy to have a second chance and happy to have our daughter back with us."

"She's in Windhelm, I hear?"

"She is. She's sided with Ulfric so she's off doing his bidding. Riften will have to make a choice soon or the fighting will come here. But I try not to worry. She's a good fighter and a smart girl."

"Don't forget that, Ingun. Ulfric won't allow her to come to any harm."

Alone in the shop, Ingun gave up trying to keep her mind on her work. With an exasperated sigh, Ingun put away her ingredients and hung up her apron. Then she went in search of her husband. She needed to be near him. Needed his strength and his love. They'd spent almost fourteen years as strangers to one another. The short time they'd been lovers was overshadowed by the years of her mother's meddling.

The sunny winter day made her squint after the gloomy shop. Taking the stairs two at a time she nearly ran into Brynjolf at the top of the steps. He was just thanking a courier. When he saw her, Brynjolf pulled her to his side.

"What is it Bryn?" The look on his face concerned her. She took his arm and led him toward Honeyside.

By the time she'd poured them both a cup of mulled wine, he'd opened the paper.

"Bryn, you're scaring me. What is it?"

"It's from Vika with the Jarl's seal." He turned the page over so she could see the embossed wax figure of the bear's head.

~o0o~

When she discovered her head was too heavy to lift Vika stayed still and opened her eyes. The room was hung with blue velvet and tapestries depicting the Windhelm bear emblem. So, she was still in Windhelm. Was this the Jarl's room?

"No, it's my room. He won't look for you here. We need to talk."

"Who...? Oh, it's you, Jorleif," she winced as shards of candlelight lanced across her eyes.

"You're safe for the moment, my lady. And that's why you need to listen to me now. He will wake up soon and come looking for you."

In spite of her headache, Vika pushed herself up in bed. She was dressed in the linen shift she wore under the dress last night. There was blood on her collar and her neck felt sore. She put a hand up and found a bandage. Her hands found bruises on her upper arms. A moment of panic struck at her, what else had happened. The memories were not there.

"What did he do to me, Jorleif? And what did you do to us?"

"I knew he was drunk. Drunk, not only with drink, but with power. And, my lady he can be single minded when he sets his mind to obtaining something he wants."

"Did he…? Talos! Is he a vampire?"

"No. He's… please try and understand. He's had a very hard life. Seen his father killed, tortured by the Aldmeri, treated like filthiest dung in the street and surrounded by violence always. He's a proud and driven man."

"I can understand all of what you say. But last night he almost...he almost…."

"No, my lady. Never. He would never hurt you or take you against his will."

"That's not what I saw in his eyes last night. He pulled my dress down. If you hadn't intervened…" Unexpected tears stung her eyes.

She wanted to be anywhere but this place. Yesterday, all she wanted was to be by his side, dancing and enjoying herself. Now, in the light of day, she wanted to be gone from here. Far from the cloying air of court and so close to him and his hungry mouth.

Like a silly girl she'd fooled herself into thinking this was where she belonged. That she could be a young girl again and dance all night or flirt with any man she chose. Instead, she'd found something of the same monster as her father lurking behind the luxurious fabric, fine food and polite manners.

"He cares for you, Lady. And I can see you care for him. He's a complicated man with many demons that sometimes get too close. Can you find it in your heart to give him a second chance?"

"Jorleif, I don't have much choice do I? I'm not allowed to leave," Vika answered tartly, with the strength of her own voice in her ears.

"No, I'm afraid not. The Jarl's specific orders are that you remain here as his guest." Suddenly, Jorleif's head came up like a hunting dog. "He's coming up the passageway. He must not see me."

"Wait! Don't leave me alone with him. Please…"

But he was gone down a side passage. The door crashed open to reveal Ulfric Stormcloak in an open shirt, breeches and bare feet. He threw himself down to his knees by the side of the bed.

"Vika! I have been searching for you everywhere."

He grabbed her hands before she could pull away and began covering them with kisses. His eyes were full and bright.

Perhaps Jorleif was right. How could he not be a tormented man? He'd been through worse than she had. Far worse.

"Please tell me I'm forgiven. I was so drunk I must have passed out. I was wrong. I trifled with you like a green boy. Never again," he vowed.

Her heart opened to his pleas. Alone with him and away from the court, his eyes were softer. Kind eyes, she thought.

"Ulfric? Please get off the floor. You're chilled."

He pulled himself onto the bed and gratefully scooped Vika up in his arms. Not a finger touched her improperly and he did not kiss her. Simply held her against his chest as if she was a child.

Next time she could be better prepared for these moods. Now that she knew she'd be better more understanding. She would provide him peace and understanding.

Vika felt herself relaxing. It was good to be held like this. Comforted in a way she'd never been. She felt her resolve softening toward him. Perhaps she'd been wrong about him last night? The drinking and loud music, and, of course, the potion Jorleif gave them. Vika shyly moved her head from under his chin and lifted her eyes to his.

"Are you sure, little Dragonborn?"

Vika nodded her head, "I didn't understand before…"

When he kissed her this time it was in response to her hand on his neck pulling him down to her. Although it was a chaste kiss, Ulfric didn't move away until she did. Then he set her back down on the bed and pulled the blankets over her lap.

"Sweet Vika. I have something for you. Please accept it only if you've forgiven me." From his pocket he pulled a gold necklace. The pendant held the likeness of a bear and a dragon. The bear's eyes were diamonds and the dragon's eyes two flawless rubies.

"It's beautiful, Ulfric," she breathed.

"I meant what I said yesterday when I intruded on your bath. I mean to court you, Vika. Not like yesterday. Never again, I promise. But, like a gentleman courts a lady. This is your first gift from me and it represents the possibility of a future together with you."

He kissed her hand. "The day is fine and clear. Will you ride out with me, Lady Vika? I need the fresh air to clear my head and your sweet company."

"Just give me a moment to change!" She responded with girlish enthusiasm. All unpleasant thoughts banished from her mind as only the young can do.

When the door closed behind the Jarl, Vika jumped out of bed and dressed in the warm riding clothes which had been already laid out for her. Carefully braiding her hair she pulled a sheepskin hat over her head and clasped the necklace around her neck. Then with new goatskin gloves and a light heart she headed toward the stable. It was all she could do to keep from running.

He waited for her just outside the gate, with a retinue of five archers, a woman servant and a standard bearer. Good, she was glad to see the archers. They would need them if a dragon showed up. No! Not today. She wouldn't allow it.

~o0o~

Ingun watched Brynjolf's face, while his brows knitted and his cheeks flushed.

"She's...she...intends to marry him. I've heard too many stories about that man to allow my daughter to link herself to him. I won't allow it!" Brynjolf slammed his fist on the table so hard the tableware jumped.

Immediately placating, Ingune tried to put a positive light on her husband's reaction. "She's no child. If they care for each other. It seems a good match. Tell me that's the way of it, Bryn. Please."

"We need to go talk to the Jarl. Now. Come lass, we have important work to do."

Brynjolf drained his cup and rose to leave the house. Ingun pulled him back down with her hand and a concerned look. "Bryn, I don't understand. He's a fine looking man. Possibly the next High King. Shouldn't we proud of our little girl?"

"Ah lass, of course we should. She's earned whatever reward she desires. But much more is known about Ulfric than you're aware of yet." Brynjolf kissed his wife's hand. "But just like having you back in my arms, I don't fully understand the timing of it. But to have you back in my life is a gift from Sovngarde. So let's head over to the Jarl's and get this sorted out."

The Jarl greeted Brynjolf and Ingun in her private rooms. Once austere, the Jarl's personal rooms now reflected the benefits of Riften's new wealth. All her citizens appreciated the increased comfort and quality of their lives. The plans Brynjolf put into action had borne fruit and everyone in Riften reaped the rewards. She poured them each a hot cup of tea, served with her own hands from fine ceramic ware and joined them at a small table next to the fire.

Brynjolf handed the letter to the Jarl and she read it aloud. Her frown deepening with every sentence.

Dear Mother and Da

I have such happy news to share with you. Ulfric asked me to be his wife and I accepted. I hope you are as happy about this as I am. He's such a good and kind man. Of course, you must come to Windhelm for the ceremony!

Vika

"Brynjolf," the Jarl began gently. Then she stopped and looked at Ingun. "Ingun, please forgive my bluntness. This information may not be known to you." The Jarl drew a breath and began. "This man is a womanizer and will use anything and anyone he sees as a necessary to achieve his goals. Marriage to a celebrity like Vika and adding her legend to his would only increase his status. He is a powerful man. Of course, he uses women. Men like him need woman around them at all times."

Brynjolf took his wife's hand. This was worse than he feared. As concern for his daughter over road logic he barely heard the Jarl's next words.

"But he only uses them as long as they remain faithful and submissive. At least two young ladies disappeared once they were hired as servants in the palace. It was put out they died in childbirth. Their families never saw a body—were never able to lay them to rest in The Hall of the Dead."

"I will go."

"No, Brynjolf." The Jarl warned, stopping him with her hand. Ulfric is loved and respected in Windhelm. There's nothing wrong, except what our own instincts and rumors tell us, with them being together. On the surface, it is an excellent match. The townspeople will wonder why you are not proud of your daughter for catching the eye of Ulfric Stormcloak."

Then his gaze turned serious and he took his tea to the fireplace. As Brynjolf gazed into the fire, he formed his own plan. A plan he knew the women wouldn't agree with. While he stroked fingers through his beard, the two women exchanged a look. The Jarl reached over and patted Ingun's hand.


	3. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

"Make the most of your regrets: never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh." -Henry David Thoreau

* * *

After slogging for hours through driving snow, Brynjolf of Riften arrived the outskirts of Windhelm just as the moon reached its zenith. He pulled his horse to a stop well back from Windhelm's imposing city walls. After dismounting, he lead the horse between two rock outcroppings, to shield it from the wind.

Brynjolf ruffled the mare's forelock. "Be ready, lass. We may need a fast getaway." Tightening the hood around his face, Brynjolf plotted a path to the walls with his sharp eyes.

Moving wraith-like across the white landscape, Brynjolf soon stood directly in the shadow of the south-west corner of Windhelm's city walls. Directly on the other side of this wall stood the market square.

The icy stone walls didn't provide much purchase as began to he climbed. The palms of his gloves were scoured, improving his chances of not falling back into the snow, still it was slow going. A fall from this height would surely break his back. There would be no prying eyes or listening ears when he spoke to his daughter. Concern for her pushed him forward.

Although he'd made this climb many times, he'd been able to choose the moment. Brynjolf might have been just a little younger last time and it certainly wouldn't have been snowing. Fortunately, the weather did provide him additional cover and few townsfolk were out at this time of night. So when he pulled himself over the top of the wall there was no one is sight. The master thief laid there with the wind blowing straight at him for a full minute before proceeding.

A conveniently placed stack of crates allowed him easy access into the marketplace. When his feet hit the ground, he dropped out of sight behind a the meat stall to watch and wait. Annoyed at his frozen beard and eyelashes, Brynjolf rubbed the heels of his hands across his face. Then carefully pulled his hood back over his head and scanned the area from behind a cart.

Brynjolf proceeded toward the palace by sliding from one shadow to the next. He flexed his fingers and the secret entrance yielded to his skilled fingers. No one noticed him as he headed inside the Palace of Kings. His spies reported Ulfric had turned Windhelm into a police state. If they'd caught him, Brynjolf reckoned they would kill him. Anxiety for his daughter increased like an ache in his limbs and quickened his pace.

Fortunately, it was so late even the night guards were off napping or stealing food in the kitchen. Then two guards walked right passed him and the master thief spread himself thin against the gray stones of the palace corridor. Their talk of staying warm and eating distracted them enough to keep from noticing the ginger-haired thief standing motionless against the wall.

The war room is empty and that surprised him. He imagined Ulfric would be planning night and day for the next conquest. Perhaps he's busy with his latest conquest. Brynjolf clamped down on that thought. There's nowhere to hide along these narrow dank hallways so he must keep his wits sharp. He mustn't give in to the rage he feels churning in his chest. This protectiveness, he tells himself, is his right as her father. But it will do her no good if he is caught.

The same spies who stacked those crates for him also provided him a map to Vika's quarters. The door is just ahead. His hands clenched the grips of the daggers at his hip. Not sure what he'll do if he finds Ulfric in bed with his daughter. He will have to cross that bridge if and when he comes to it. Naturally, there's no lock on the door. Ulfric would never allow one of his women to refuse him.

The thought that Ulfric was using his daughter shot another tremor of rage through him. Brynjolf narrowly stopped himself from punching his fist into the wooden door. He tried to plan what he will do if they are together. It's not his place to run her life, but it is his place to protect her. Slipping carefully inside the door, Brynjolf closed it quietly behind him.

In a small pool of light cast by a single candle, the sight of his daughter's sleeping face calms him. He could just make out her features in the gloom and for a moment, simply enjoyed watching her sleep. The smell of an apple tart reaches his nose as he approached the bed. Two days ago, it was Skyrim Apple Tart Day. After the events of finding out about Vika's news they'd forgotten to head over to the Bee and Barb for their treat.

Perhaps he is a fool to image these are simpler times. That Ingun and his daughter in his life will bring him happiness and something as uncomplicated as a pastry should make him happy. So long without love in his life, he cannot push these thoughts away. They are comforting and he holds those moments to his heart. If there is a price to pay for love and affection, then he's ready to pay it with his life to keep Ingun and Vika alive and protected.

So it is with a gentle hand he reaches out to lay over her mouth so she won't scream.

"Sorry, lass," he said quietly into the dark room.

Then she surprised him by rising up from the bed, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand and neatly laying a glass dagger at this throat with the other. He stopped mid-motion and lowered his hands.

Brynjolf's grin was genuine. "That's my girl," he chuckled over the sharp blade at this throat. "You do me proud, daughter."

With a small cry, Vika dropped the glass dagger. The knife fell forgotten between them as she threw her arms around her father. Brynjolf retrieved the knife and laid it on the bedside table before returning her hug. The first thing he noticed was she seemed to have lost weight. He pulled back to find the circles under her eyes are so dark they look like bruises. Her ice blue eyes seem muddy and reflect something he hadn't seen before.

"Lass, are ye well?"

Instead of responding, she ducked her head against his shoulder and tightened her grip on him.

"You're here to give us your blessing?"

"No daughter, I am here because I am concerned for you."

Brynjolf laid his cheek on the top of her head. Was it true for all parents, he wondered in this moment, when she is his and his alone. A moment in time, when a daughter turns to her father… No, he thinks, he can't really know, because there are no words to express the depth of love in his heart.

"But, why?"

"For one thing, ye won't look me in the eye. For another, you don't look as happy as you'd like me to think you are. I will not discuss it further because I could not endure the thought of turning you away from your mother and me. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for a reason." It was time to play his card. "I need a favor, lass."

"Of course, Da. But I would never turn from you. Why you would think that..."

He silenced her with his fingers on her lips. "Listen to me," he said with quiet urgency. "Go with Ralof when he asks for your help. He needs your skills. I know Ulfric is enjoying his successes, but we...the people of Skyrim still need their Dragonborn. Don't forget us, lass."

"But Ulfric needs me here. He tells me every day how much he relies on my council."

Brynjolf looked away to hide the reaction he can't stop from creasing his face. He can see the truth of it plainly on her face as she rushes to defend the Jarl. Trapped in an emotional web of that scoundrel's weaving, he must tread very carefully to avoid pushing her in his direction. He had one more thing to say and then he'd have to leave to allow whatever effect his words had on her take their course.

"Da? You should go. I'm afraid of what might happen if they find you here."

"Come here daughter and let me hold you for a moment longer. Then, ask yourself why you'd need to worry about your own father's safety in the home of your betrothed. I love you, lass."

"I-I love you, too. Da, wait. Please..."

Then he is gone. The soft thud of the door closing the only sign he was even there. Until she noticed her apple tart is also gone.

For the remainder of the night she paced her room. Her father would not have risked coming here unless it was important. They had always watched out for each other. She knew his concern was genuine. But this was something more. Perhaps at breakfast she will inquire with Ulfric about her father and mother coming for a visit. What will his reaction be?

He's been solicitous and generous to her since she consented to stay here in the Palace. She'd also assumed he would need her in the field, but that had not been so. Each time the question came up, he laughed it away and convinced her she was needed at the palace. If she were not here, he asked her, who would see to the comfort of his guests?

If she were not by his side, who would keep the wary parties from going at each other's throat in his Feasting Hall? He needed her here with him, where she could comfort and advise him. Then he would pull her close and bury his face in her neck, "You're the only thing keeping me sane, Vika. Don't leave me. Please?

Then there would be a pretty necklace or jeweled hair net waiting for her in her room that night and she would convince herself that he needed her. She would allow a maid to brush out her long hair and help her change into one of her many beautiful night dresses, slide between soft cotton sheets and fall asleep thinking about how romantic it was to be needed by such a great man as Ulfric Stormcloak.

The soft gray light of dawn crept through her bedroom window by the time she'd stopped pacing and pulled her armor from under the bed. She'd hidden it under there many weeks ago. She could not yet, answer the question of why had she kept it hidden.

She's reminded of her shield brothers, as she ran her fingers over the leather straps and buckles. How long has it been since she's seen Vilkas or Farkas? The last time she'd been to Whiterun, it was to help sack the town. Once the Jarl had surrendered, she'd slipped away to the Jorrvaskr only to find the door locked.

The memories of that day flooded her mind as her fingers stroked the armor. No one raised a hand or acknowledged her presence. Everyone around her was too busy trying to recover from the shock of the attack. Until, there was nothing left for her to do but walk to the stables and retrieve her horse.

Until that moment, when she'd begun to notice the bodies, she'd thought she'd done a great thing. Then next to the well in the marketplace, she saw old Sig, the guard who had once asked her if someone had stolen her sweet roll. They had both laughed at his joke. Now he was dead. He would never laugh again. Silenced by a Stormcloak arrow through his heart.

Floating in the storm ditch, which ran next to the Drunken Huntsman, she recognized one of the children. The tough little girl who never failed to ask Vika if she wanted to play a game or fight depending on her mood. Several months ago, Vika had given her a finely carved wooden sword – she'd polished it herself at Adrienne's forge – the girl had nearly burst into tears. Then gave Vika a fierce hug, dragged a ragged sleeve across her dirty face and ran away.

Vika retrieved the sword from the water and pulled the little girl up on the bank. She carefully placed the little girls cold hands on her narrow chest and laid the sword in her hands. After a quick prayer to Talos to welcome this child into Sovngarde Vika hurried away. Her eyes misted over and sadness dragging at her steps.

The moment she passed the War Maiden's shop and Adrienne and her husband didn't respond to her greeting almost broke her heart. They'd looked away and simply gotten up and went inside. One of the new Stormcloak guards opened the gate for her and she walked away from Whiterun. It wasn't until she'd ridden for several miles that she stopped and weight of what had just happened dropped on her shoulders. She felt like weeping, but her face was dry and her heart began to harden. She was just seventeen years old

Ulfric's reception drove those sad and guilty thoughts away. And now here she stood, wondering why she felt so confused. She'd allowed herself to be blinded by the fine clothes and jewels, the deference to her status. The fawning courtiers who sought to get to Ulfric through her.

No more.

When once she'd been contended and happy to journey with her Shield Brothers, fight the Silver Hands gang, or help people in need. To learn skills from her father and spend time with him doing good works. Working with her Mother in the alchemy shop perfecting her skills. Once morning they have been working on a complicated potion and the whole thing had caught fire, by the time they'd put the fire out, they'd realized they'd turned themselves green. It took all Vika's skill to manage a spell to turn them both back to normal. They'd laughed together until they couldn't breath.

Vika's hands twisted into the fine lawn fabric of her gown. She wanted to spend the day with her mother.

The gown ripped at the seams and fell into a puddle at her feet.

She wanted to sup in the Jorrvaskr mead hall again, with her father by her side.

Piece by piece she laced and buckled on her cherished Nordic armor. She would go riding today. Perhaps she would go hunting or practice her magic spells in the woods. Her dappled gray stallion, Tyven hadn't been ridden in months. She would saddle him herself, just as Brynjolf had taught her.

After tightly braiding her hair she shouldered her bow and sword and wrapped the food in her room in a small napkin. With each step down the hallway she felt free and young.

But when she approached the throne, Ulfric turned a stormy furrowed brow to her. "Little Dovahkiin, where do you think you are going on this fine morning?

"For a ride, my Jarl."

"Not today, my pet. I have no time to spend with you and no men available to accompany you."

"Begging your pardon, but I don't require an escort." With more courage than her pounding heart felt, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with him. Something her father had said to her last night had stuck with her. She wanted to be outside in the clear frosty air of her beloved Skyrim.

How had she forgotten her own work? There were things needed doing. She thought of Sig and that little girl in Whiterun. Ulfric would run things, with his advisors and clerks. He didn't need her. She had work to do. She needed to wash the blood from her heart and hands.

"You do, if I say you do. Now, go put on that pretty red dress and come sit with me while I parlay with these dreary politicians. Run along, pet."

She noticed his hands gripped the carved armrests of his throne.

"I prefer to go riding, Ulfric."

All eyes were upon them now. Vika knew better than to bait him in front of his courtiers. It wasn't her intention to make a confrontation. She simply intended to go riding.

Behind her the great doors opened and with a rush of cold morning air came a small troop of Stormcloak soldiers. A familiar voice behind her made her turn quickly. So quickly the tall blond man in the lead had to catch her to keep the two of them from crashing into one another.

"Good to see you, friend," he said with a warm smile. "I see you're ready to go. I asked them to saddle your horse when we rode by the stable."

When Ulfric recognized the group of men entering his palace he sank back on his throne and resumed his usual air of indifference. With a grin, Vika recognized as false, he nodded to the soldiers as they approached.

"Well, well, my lady. I can hardly worry about you when you're escorted by a squad of my best Stormcloaks." Ulfric nodded toward Ralof, "Captain. I trust you'll take good care of my lovely lady."

"Only with my life, Ulfric." Rolf made a shallow bow to the Jarl and with a quick hidden signal to his men. They encircled Vika and before anyone could question them they'd swept her outside. The young Stormcloak captain bowed again and with a swirl of his cloak strode purposefully out the huge wooden doors. Once outside they stepped up the pace and hurried through the snow flurries to get to the main gates.

One of his men held Vika's horse just outside the gate. When she saw him, she dashed down the steps and vaulted onto the handsome dappled gray. The horse seemed glad to see her as he began to nod his head and pick up his feet.

Vika responded, "Tyven!" Once she was settled the horse and rider streaked toward open land.

"Vika wait!"

Ralof didn't even bother trying to catch up with her. He did keep her in sight as his men followed him down the road. Even her horse seemed happy to be free as he stretched out his neck and increased his stride. Fresh snow billowed up behind them. She'd come so far since that fateful day in Helgen, but at what cost? And how much could she afford to pay? And for how long?

Vika crouched over the horse's neck clinging like a burr. By the time she circled back to Ralof she was smiling. It's a smile he's familiar with and happy to see again.

She brought her dapple-gray to a stop next to Ralof. And he's struck by two very simple facts; she's no longer the young girl who escaped from Helgen with him and she's grown into a beauty. Not in an obvious or overblown way, but in a quiet subdued way. The kind of beauty that made a man want to step closer and look into those troubled eyes. The kind of mystery that made a man want to offer to kill a dragon for her. Except, she could do that herself.

He noticed more as she drew nearer. She's much too thin and the dark circles under her eyes stand out like bruises against pale cheeks. Should he be worried about her time with Ulfric? His heart ached for her, but it was none of his business. People higher up than him were watching out for her. If he could give her a taste of freedom today he would be grateful for that.

In spite of his intentions to leave it alone, once they were well away from the city he asked about her welfare. "I need your help, but I don't want to cause a problem between you and the Jarl."

"I intended to go out this morning anyway. You showing up just make it easier for me to escape."

"Escape? Does that explain the circles under your eyes or the fact you look thin enough to slide between the slats of a fence?"

He apologized immediately at her sharp look. "I'm sorry. Vika, we are friends, right?"

"Of course. I owe you my life."

"Enough of that, Vika." He waved away her comment. "We helped each other escape Helgen that day. You've done great things since then and all on your own. I'm here for you. Always remember that."

"Did my Father put you up to this?" She eyed him warily her horse sidestepping away.

"Your father? Why would you think such a thing? You're the one who used the word 'escape.'"

Ralof watched her stare at the horizon. The men are waiting for them at Fort Neugrad. But he cannot resist offering her something. She's troubled. He reached out to her gauntleted hand, the way a friend would. At his touch her shoulders rounded. Sliding his horse alongside hers he continued to hold her forearm but also slid an arm around her waist. They stayed together like that for several minutes while Vika struggled with her emotions.

A conveniently placed stack of crates allowed him easy access into the marketplace. When his feet hit the ground, he dropped out of sight behind a the meat stall to watch and wait. Annoyed at his frozen beard and eyelashes, Brynjolf rubbed the heels of his hands across his face. Then carefully pulled his hood back over his head and scanned the area from behind a cart.

Brynjolf proceeded toward the palace by sliding from one shadow to the next. He flexed his fingers and the secret entrance yielded to his skilled fingers. No one noticed him as he headed inside the Palace of Kings. His spies reported Ulfric had turned Windhelm into a police state. If they'd caught him, Brynjolf reckoned they would kill him. Anxiety for his daughter increased like an ache in his limbs and quickened his pace.

Fortunately, it was so late even the night guards were off napping or stealing food in the kitchen. Then two guards walked right passed him and the master thief spread himself thin against the gray stones of the palace corridor. Their talk of staying warm and eating distracted them enough to keep from noticing the ginger-haired thief standing motionless against the wall.

The war room is empty and that surprised him. He imagined Ulfric would be planning night and day for the next conquest. Perhaps he's busy with his latest conquest. Brynjolf clamped down on that thought. There's nowhere to hide along these narrow dank hallways so he must keep his wits sharp. He mustn't give in to the rage he feels churning in his chest. This protectiveness, he tells himself, is his right as her father. But it will do her no good if he is caught.

The same spies who stacked those crates for him also provided him a map to Vika's quarters. The door is just ahead. His hands clenched the grips of the daggers at his hip. Not sure what he'll do if he finds Ulfric in bed with his daughter. He will have to cross that bridge if and when he comes to it. Naturally, there's no lock on the door. Ulfric would never allow one of his women to refuse him.

The thought that Ulfric was using his daughter shot another tremor of rage through him. Brynjolf narrowly stopped himself from punching his fist into the wooden door. He tried to plan what he will do if they are together. It's not his place to run her life, but it is his place to protect her. Slipping carefully inside the door, Brynjolf closed it quietly behind him.

In a small pool of light cast by a single candle, the sight of his daughter's sleeping face calms him. He could just make out her features in the gloom and for a moment, simply enjoyed watching her sleep. The smell of an apple tart reaches his nose as he approached the bed. Two days ago, it was Skyrim Apple Tart Day. After the events of finding out about Vika's news they'd forgotten to head over to the Bee and Barb for their treat.

Perhaps he is a fool to image these are simpler times. That Ingun and his daughter in his life will bring him happiness and something as uncomplicated as a pastry should make him happy. So long without love in his life, he cannot push these thoughts away. They are comforting and he holds those moments to his heart. If there is a price to pay for love and affection, then he's ready to pay it with his life to keep Ingun and Vika alive and protected.

So it is with a gentle hand he reaches out to lay over her mouth so she won't scream.

"Sorry, lass," he said quietly into the dark room.

Then she surprised him by rising up from the bed, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand and neatly laying a glass dagger at this throat with the other. He stopped mid-motion and lowered his hands.

Brynjolf's grin was genuine. "That's my girl," he chuckled over the sharp blade at this throat. "You do me proud, daughter."

With a small cry, Vika dropped the glass dagger. The knife fell forgotten between them as she threw her arms around her father. Brynjolf retrieved the knife and laid it on the bedside table before returning her hug. The first thing he noticed was she seemed to have lost weight. He pulled back to find the circles under her eyes are so dark they look like bruises. Her ice blue eyes seem muddy and reflect something he hadn't seen before.

"Lass, are ye well?"

Instead of responding, she ducked her head against his shoulder and tightened her grip on him.

"You're here to give us your blessing?"

"No daughter, I am here because I am concerned for you."

Brynjolf laid his cheek on the top of her head. Was it true for all parents, he wondered in this moment, when she is his and his alone. A moment in time, when a daughter turns to her father… No, he thinks, he can't really know, because there are no words to express the depth of love in his heart.

"But, why?"

"For one thing, ye won't look me in the eye. For another, you don't look as happy as you'd like me to think you are. I will not discuss it further because I could not endure the thought of turning you away from your mother and me. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for a reason." It was time to play his card. "I need a favor, lass."

"Of course, Da. But I would never turn from you. Why you would think that..."

He silenced her with his fingers on her lips. "Listen to me," he said with quiet urgency. "Go with Ralof when he asks for your help. He needs your skills. I know Ulfric is enjoying his successes, but we...the people of Skyrim still need their Dragonborn. Don't forget us, lass."

"But Ulfric needs me here. He tells me every day how much he relies on my council."

Brynjolf looked away to hide the reaction he can't stop from creasing his face. He can see the truth of it plainly on her face as she rushes to defend the Jarl. Trapped in an emotional web of that scoundrel's weaving, he must tread very carefully to avoid pushing her in his direction. He had one more thing to say and then he'd have to leave to allow whatever effect his words had on her take their course.

"Da? You should go. I'm afraid of what might happen if they find you here."

"Come here daughter and let me hold you for a moment longer. Then, ask yourself why you'd need to worry about your own father's safety in the home of your betrothed. I love you, lass."

"I-I love you, too. Da, wait. Please..."

Then he is gone. The soft thud of the door closing the only sign he was even there. Until, she noticed her apple tart is also gone.

For the remainder of the night she paced her room. Her father would not have risked coming here unless it was important. They had always watched out for each other. She knew his concern was genuine. But this was something more. Perhaps at breakfast she will inquire with Ulfric about her father and mother coming for a visit. What will his reaction be?

He's been solicitous and generous to her since she consented to stay here in the Palace. She'd also assumed he would need her in the field, but that had not been so. Each time the question came up, he laughed it away and convinced her she was needed at the palace. If she were not here, he asked her, who would see to the comfort of his guests?

If she were not by his side, who would keep the wary parties from going at each other's throat in his feasting hall? He needed her here with him, where she could comfort and advise him. Then he would pull her close and bury his face in her neck, "You're the only thing keeping me sane, Vika. Don't leave me. Please?

Then there would be a pretty necklace or jeweled hair net waiting for her in her room that night and she would convince herself that he needed her. She would allow a maid to brush out her long hair and help her change into one of her many beautiful night dresses, slide between soft cotton sheets and fall asleep thinking about how romantic it was to be needed by such a great man as Ulfric Stormcloak.

The soft gray light of dawn crept through her bedroom window by the time she'd stopped pacing and pulled her armor from under the bed. She'd hidden it under there many weeks ago.

Why had she kept it hidden?

She's reminded of her shield brothers, as she ran her fingers over the leather straps and buckles. How long has it been since she's seen Vilkas or Farkas? The last time she'd been to Whiterun, it was to help sack the town. Once the Jarl had surrendered, she'd slipped away to the Jorrvaskr only to find the door locked.

The memories of that day flooded her mind as her fingers stroked the armor. No one raised a hand or acknowledged her presence. Everyone around her was too busy trying to recover from the shock of the attack. Until, there was nothing left for her to do but walk to the stables and retrieve her horse.

Up until that moment, when she'd begun to notice the bodies, she'd thought she'd done a great thing. Then next to the well in the marketplace, she saw old Sig, the guard who had once asked her if someone had stolen her sweet roll. They had both laughed at his joke. Now he was dead. He would never laugh again. Silenced by a Stormcloak arrow through his heart.

Floating in the storm ditch that ran next to the Drunken Huntsman, she recognized one of the children. The tough little girl who never failed to ask Vika if she wanted to play a game or fight depending on her mood. Several months ago, Vika had given her a finely carved wooden sword – she'd polished it herself at Adrienne's forge – the girl had nearly burst into tears. Then gave Vika a fierce hug, dragged a ragged sleeve across her dirty face and ran away.

Vika retrieved the sword from the water and pulled the little girl up on the bank. She carefully placed the little girls cold hands on her narrow chest and laid the sword in her hands. After a quick prayer to Talos to welcome this child into Sovngarde Vika hurried away. Her eyes misted over and sadness dragging at her steps.

The moment she passed the War Maiden's shop and Adrienne and her husband didn't respond to her greeting almost broke her heart. They'd looked away and simply gotten up and went inside. One of the new Stormcloak guards opened the gate for her and she walked away from Whiterun. It wasn't until she'd ridden for several miles that she stopped and weight of what had just happened dropped on her shoulders. She felt like weeping, but her face was dry and her heart began to harden. She was just seventeen years old

Ulfric's reception drove those sad and guilty thoughts away. And now here she stood, wondering why she felt so confused. She'd allowed herself to be blinded by the fine clothes and jewels, the deference to her status. The fawning courtiers who sought to get to Ulfric through her.

No more.

When once she'd been contended and happy to journey with her Shield Brothers, fight the Silver Hands gang, or help people in need. To learn skills from her father and spend time with him doing good works. Working with her Mother in the alchemy shop perfecting her skills. Once morning they have been working on a complicated potion and the whole thing had caught fire, by the time they'd put the fire out, they'd realized they'd turned themselves green. It took all Vika's skill to manage a spell to turn them both back to normal. They'd laughed together until they couldn't breath.

Vika's hands twisted into the fine lawn fabric of her gown. She wanted to spend the day with her mother.

The gown ripped at the seams and fell into a puddle at her feet.

She wanted to sup in the Yorvasker mead hall again, with her father by her side.

Piece by piece she laced and buckled on her cherished Nordic armor. She would go riding today. Perhaps she would go hunting or practice her magic spells in the woods. Her dappled gray stallion, Tyven hadn't been ridden in months. She would saddle him herself, just as Brynjolf had taught her.

After tightly braiding her hair she shouldered her bow and sword and wrapped the food in her room in a small napkin. With each step down the hallway she felt free and young.

But when she approached the throne, Ulfric turned a stormy furrowed brow to her. "Little Dovahkiin, where do you think you are going on this fine morning?

"For a ride, my Jarl."

"Not today, my pet. I have no time to spend with you and no men available to accompany you."

"Begging your pardon, but I don't require an escort." With more courage than her pounding heart felt, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with him. Something her father had said to her last night had stuck with her. She wanted to be outside in the clear frosty air of her beloved Skyrim.

How had she forgotten her own work? There were things needed doing. She thought of Sig and that little girl in Whiterun. Ulfric would run things, him and his assistance. She had work to do. She needed to wash the blood away from her heart and hands.

"You do, if I say you do. Now, go put on that pretty red dress and come sit with me while I parlay with these dreary politicians. Run along, pet."

She noticed his hands gripped the carved armrests of his throne.

"I prefer to go riding, Ulfric."

All eyes were upon them now. Vika knew better than to bait him in front of his courtiers. It wasn't her intention to make a confrontation. She simply intended to go riding.

Behind her the great doors opened and with a rush of cold morning air came a small troop of Stormcloak soldiers. A familiar voice behind her made her turn quickly. So quickly the tall blond man in the lead had to catch her to keep the two of them from crashing into one another.

"Good to see you, friend," he said with a warm smile. "I see you're ready to go. I asked them to saddle your horse when we rode by the stable."

When Ulfric recognized the group of men entering his palace he sank back on his throne and resumed his usual air of indifference. With a grin, Vika recognized as false, he nodded to the soldiers as they approached.

"Well, well, my lady. I can hardly worry about you when you're escorted by a squad of my best Stormcloaks." Ulfric nodded toward Ralof, "Captain. I trust you'll take good care of my lovely lady."

"Only with my life, Ulfric." Rolf made a shallow bow to the Jarl and with a quick hidden signal to his men. They encircled Vika and before anyone could question them they'd swept her outside. The young Stormcloak captain bowed again and with a swirl of his cloak strode purposefully out the huge wooden doors. Once outside they stepped up the pace and hurried through the snow flurries to get to the main gates.

One of his men held Vika's horse just outside the gate. When she saw him, she dashed down the steps and vaulted onto the handsome dappled gray. The horse seemed glad to see her as he began to nod his head and pick up his feet.

Vika responded, "Tyven!"

Once she was in the saddle, the horse and rider streaked toward open land.

"Vika wait!"

Ralof didn't even bother trying to catch up with her. He did keep her in sight as his men followed him down the road. Even her horse seemed happy to be free as he stretched out his neck and increased his stride. Fresh snow billowed up behind them. She'd come so far since that fateful day in Helgen, but at what cost? And how much could she afford to pay? And for how long?

Vika crouched over the horse's neck clinging like a burr. By the time she circled back to Ralof she was smiling. It's a smile he's familiar with and happy to see again.

She brought her dapple-gray to a stop next to Ralof. And he's struck by two very simple facts; she's no longer the young girl who escaped from Helgen with him and she's grown into a beauty. Not in an obvious or overblown way, but in a quiet subdued way. The kind of beauty that made a man want to step closer and look into those troubled eyes. The kind of mystery that made a man want to offer to kill a dragon for her. Except, she could do that herself.

He noticed more as she drew nearer. She's much too thin and the dark circles under her eyes stand out like bruises against pale cheeks. Should he be worried about her time with Ulfric? His heart ached for her, but it was none of his business. People higher up than him were watching out for her. If he could give her a taste of freedom today he would be grateful for that.

In spite of his intentions to leave it alone, once they were well away from the city he asked about her welfare. "I need your help, but I don't want to cause a problem between you and the Jarl."

"I intended to go out this morning anyway. You showing up just make it easier for me to escape."

"Escape? Does that explain the circles under your eyes or the fact you look thin enough to slide between the slats of a fence?"

He apologized immediately at her sharp look. "I'm sorry. Vika, we are friends, right?"

"Of course. I owe you my life."

"Enough of that, Vika." He waved away her comment. "We helped each other escape Helgen that day. You've done great things since then and all on your own. I'm here for you. Always remember that."

"Did my Father put you up to this?" She eyed him warily her horse sidestepping away.

"Your father? Why would you think such a thing? You're the one who used the word 'escape'"

Ralof watched her stare at the horizon. The men are waiting for them at Fort Neugrad. But he cannot resist offering her something. She's troubled. He reached out to her gauntleted hand, the way a friend would. At his touch her shoulders rounded. Sliding his horse alongside hers he continued to hold her forearm but also slid an arm around her waist. They stayed together like that for several minutes while Vika struggled with her emotions.


	4. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

"The word 'happiness' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness." -Carl Jung

* * *

 

"Vika take what you need from me. You don't have to hide anything. I know your strength and bravery. You've got nothing to prove to me."

With a long sigh, she removed her helmet and laid her head on Ralof's shoulder. He thought to himself, as he felt her relax, if someone has her hurt her, he will see to it. Even if it's the Jarl himself, he will see to it.

"Vika, look at me," he said gently holding her chin between his fingers and gazing into her eyes. "You don't look yourself. I'm worried about you and if you'll let me, I'll watch out for you."

"Ralof, there's nothing wrong with me that activity and fresh air won't cure. I've been indoors too long. That's all. We have a job to do for the Jarl. Shouldn't we be about it?" She said, straightening herself in the saddle and righting the weapons on her back.

For all her bravado, Ralof saw something more, something behind the eyes, her smile didn't change, and he couldn't let it go. She hadn't been far from his thoughts since Helgen. If she needed him… "Is it possible you're with child?"

"How dare you!" Vika jerked herself out of his reach, her horse responding by sidestepping away.

"I'll say it because we're friends, not out of disrespect."

"Everyone is certainly worried about me. I'm fine. I'm in love! I'm betrothed to Ulfric Stormcloak. I'm happy!"

By the Gods, she is a stubborn woman. "You didn't answer my question, Vika. If you're pregnant with the Jarl's child, you've no business out here fighting with my men and me. Now tell me the truth of it."

"Of course I'm not pregnant. It's ridiculous."

"You're not that naive, Vika. You're his woman. You know it's possible."

"I'm not his woman. You make me sound like a whore," she spat at him. "I'm his betrothed."

The nearby soldiers began to move away.

"This is Skyrim. We both know it often amounts to the same thing," his own anger flared at her stubbornness and a jealousy he didn't dare put a name to.

"Well, not always." The haughty tone in her answer implied her Imperial City upbringing. Replacing a helmet over her red hair Vika turned away. Ralof wasn't ready for that to happen and he grabbed her by the arm.

"Vika? Listen to me!"

"He never touches me! Satisfied?" Then she yanked the reins and turned her horse toward Fort Neugrad.

~o0o~

Ralof held his men behind a large hedgerow of winter scrub and rocks while he assessed the situation at the fort. A frontal attack on the fort was at best a suicide mission. He didn't have enough men for that anyway. As he observed the area from his hiding spot, for the first time he began to question Ulfric's tactics. The Jarl hadn't intended Vika to come with them. So how did he expect a handful of men to take down this fort? Stealth was the only way to enter this stone and timber fortified structure. And no one but the Dovahkiin had those kind of skills.

"There's an underground entrance, I'll slip in," she was saying behind him, as if reading his mind.

Although he found himself happily surprised they were thinking the same thing, he did not intend to allow her to risk her life this way. Ralof slid from his horse. Vika was already securing her armor and weapons.

"Not today," he said firmly, shaking his head. "I'll send a small squad of my men."

"Can they do what I can?" She said, yanking the strap over her chest tight.

He had to admit they couldn't. "Vika, your health..."

"There's nothing wrong with my health. I'm not some delicate mountain flower.

Unexpected emotions flooded through his veins when he realized by sending her alone into that fort might mean her death. No amount of magic could protect her from a whole army of Imperial soldiers. If she didn't come back, what would he say to her father? What would he do if he never saw her again?

"Ralof? Let go of my arms."

Without warning, he yanked on those forearms so hard their armor clanked together. His studded leather made a dull clunk against Nordic armor.

"You be careful in there, Vika. I'm not sure I'd care to live in a world without you in it."

Tempted by the upturned mouth and wide blue eyes. He briefly brought her fingers to his lips, then pushed her away. She stumbled a few steps backwards through the deep snow. Ralof stayed silent and simply gathered her horse's reins.

"We'll wait for the sound of battle and join you in the Keep," he said after a few seconds, without looking at her.

While they waited for her signal, Ralof had a long talk with Talos about her safety and the possibility of her coming out of that fort alive. The men kept their horses quiet and stayed hidden. A strengthening storm insured the safety of their cover. The falling snow shrouded them in a silent world of anxious prayers and regret.

Presently they heard the first screams and the sound of battle. The wind changed direction and now they could smell burning flesh. High on a battlement, Ralof saw the glow of a mage charging up spell, until he fell screaming his hands still locked in the creation of the fire spell. She must of used on of her shouts at him.

The sounds of men attempting to muster soldiers carried across the field. A few made it out the front gate only to be cut down by Ralof's best archers well hidden on the other side of the clearing.

At the right moment, Captain Ralof signaled his men to charge. As they ran toward the entrance, they watched a Fire Atronach clear the battlements of archers. Once inside, they spent the next hour in a sword fight with Imperial troops.

The wooden entrance to the inner bailey yielded to their threats. The screaming and shouting suddenly stopped when an interior wooden door banged open. Ralof's men stared open mouthed at the Dovahkiin standing alone, while blood dripped off the edge of her weapon. Ralof began to run and did not stop until he was standing in front of her.

She was covered in gore and ash. Eyes glazed over, she stood frozen like a statue of some warrior goddess.

"Vika? Vika, it's over." Then he made the mistake of touching her. "The Imperials are dead. Dead! Dead!" She screamed into his face. "Is this what you wanted?"

Ralof signaled his men to secure the fort. Retrieving a skin of water and he tried to make her drink. She fought him until he took her weapons away from her.

"Give those back to me. Do you know who I am?" Her eyes roll backwards and she swayed on her feet.

Ralof caught her in his arms, "Vika, be still. Please." It was when she finally sat down and stopped fighting that he noticed the arrows protruding from her left thigh and her right shoulder. Blood oozed from the arrow shaft in the thigh wound.

Ralof thanked Talos when he saw the arrow hadn't penetrated her neck. The steel arrow had only grazed the skin on her shoulder and lodged in the armor. Finally, the fight went out of her and she didn't protest when he lifted her limp body from the filthy ground.

While his men secured the gate and the secret entrance, Ralof carried Vika inside the fort. He laid her down on a pile of furs next to the blacksmith's shop. He's already steeling himself for what is to come. There is no healer with them. In this condition, she is unable to cast a healing spell on herself. Even if she could, the arrow had bitten deep into her leg muscle. There was no magic in what they would have to do to help her.

After the dead were piled in the deep snow. The weapons collected and packed. Food organized and the entrances locked. One by one, the men joined him in the blacksmith's work area. One of the soldiers brought water and a few clean pieces of linen he'd managed to scrounge. Another sharpened his steel knife, its blade hissed rhythmically across the whetstone.

"Cap'n, found this in a chest. It'll help ease her while we work."

"Thanks Bjorn. Ralof accepted the small bottle of healing potion from the soldier. Help me sit her up."

The big silent man gently lifted Vika from the ground and supported her while Ralof tried to rouse her enough to get her to swallow some of the potion.

"Sweeting? Can you open your eyes for me? I need you to swallow some of this potion. Vika?"

"She's a brave girl, Cap'n. Don't worry. We'll pull her through this. I mixed the potion with some good Nord mead to help dull her mind."

Then she woke long enough to drink the concoction and slipped away again. Bjorn tapped Ralof.

"Now's the time."

Ralof slipped a leather thong between her teeth. The other men held her down while Bjorn examined the arrow. They all knew it was a barbed steel arrow, which meant Bjorn would have to push it through her thigh to cut off the arrowhead. Only then could he remove the shaft. Even a seasoned soldier would scream through this kind of pain. Ralof's stomach clenched at the thought of his dear friend experiencing this level of agony. He shut his mind to the possibility of her being maimed.

Ralof cradled her head in his lap and with one hand under her head to keep it from banging it against the cold stone floor and clasped the hand closest to him. With a nod, Bjorn held her thigh still with one hand and with steady pressure pushed the arrow through and out the back of her leg. The bloody arrow carried a gout of blood and tissue with it.

Vika's eyes flew open and before anyone could stop her, she shot to a sitting position.

"Hold her, damn you!"

Ralof wrapped himself around her and held her to keep her from moving. She screamed against his chest.

"Be still, ástin mín. Hang on to me. Don't let go. Hold on."

After cutting off the arrowhead the big man doused both ends of the shaft with wine. Then in one quick movement, Bjorn pulled the shaft back through her leg.

She screamed again and sank her teeth into Ralof's shoulder. He bit down on his own pain and continued talking to her. "Vika, listen to me. My brave beautiful, girl — I love you — I do — Talos, I love you." Oblivious to those around him, Ralof rocked her and tried to soothe her.

With the help of the other men, Bjorn washed out the wound with wine again and bound the wound with clean linen. He let Vika relax for a moment. She was still clutching Captain Ralof but her breathing had slowed and she had the pain under control. The soldiers nodded to one another, marveling at her courage.

By the time Bjorn finished packing the wound with a thick paste of spider webs and honey, she was conscious again.

"I—I have to get back to Windhelm. Ulfric will wonder…"

"Hush, Lass. You'll not be ruining my good work by moving around. You need to be still for at least the night."

Ralof nodded in agreement. "I'll send a runner back to Windhelm. First thing in the morning, we'll head back." He thought for a moment and changed his mind. "No. I'll tell the runner to have Ulfric send a wagon for you."

After he got Vika settled by the fire, he headed out to walk the perimeter with his lieutenant. The snow had finally stopped and the world was wrapped in a sparkling veil of ice and snow. They watched as Ulfric's banner was hoisted over the fort. Ralof pulled his cloak around himself.

"Captain Ralof, if you'll pardon me saying so. I heard what you said to the Dragonborn. She's a difficult woman not to love, but you don't need that kind of trouble from Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I know, Bjorn. I know. And I'll not seek it. Have no fear of that. Come, let's get inside before the men drink all the ale."

Icelandic: ástin mín Translation: My Love


	5. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

"Sky above, voice within." ―Arngeir

* * *

High above The Pale on a mountaintop shrouded in mystery and superstition, the Grandmaster of High Hrothgar Monastery summons the monks to his presence. He beckons them outside and although they would rather stay inside by the fire, they dare not disobey him.

The monks huddled together as they climb the narrow path to join the Grand Master. The wind and snow are fierce. The Master must be angry to churn up so much weather. Their Thu'um Clear Skies does little to clear a path for them. At this pace, it takes more than an hour to make the climb from their monastery to The Throat of the World.

"You summoned us, Master Paarthurnax?" Arngeir's voice carried over the wind. He sought shelter from the weather inside the curved wall of Paarthurnax's perch with his brothers.

The old dragon's tail sliced through the blowing snow. Switching back and forth like a cat about to pounce. Arngeir realized he'd never seen Paarthurnax so agitated. With their backs to the wind, the brothers waited respectfully for him to speak.

"I am aware of Klimmek's warning." The dragon's voice rumbled over the mountain peak. It sounded like an accusation to Arngeir. The brothers exchanged looks, but waited silently.

There was nothing they could hide from the Grandmaster. The old graybeard folded his hands in his sleeves and told the truth.

"The man from the village did speak to me today. He was concerned about Ulfric's behavior. We are aware of our responsibility toward Ulfric, as well as the Dovahkiin, Master."

A wall of snow blanketed them from above as Paarthurnax moved. The great jaws snapped shut and opened again.

"Travel...wah Keizaal...to Skyrim and discover the… vahzah… truth of Klimmek's words. Take one brother with you. I care not whom."

"Yes, Master. Brother Einarth and I will start down the mountain at first light," Arngeir replied, relieved and thankful for the opportunity to act.

The old dragon rose in the air. The downdraft of his agitated flight showered more snow on the brothers. Arngeir shook the snow off his robe and led his brothers single file down the path. No one spoke as the monks meditate on what is to come and the consequences Ulfric's behavior will bring to Skyrim.

~o0o~

They argued, but she insisted it was the only way. He tried to reason with her, almost admitted how he really felt about her. Ached to ask her about the scars he'd seen on her back when they dressed her wounds. In the end, he had to watch her ride away, alone, toward Ulfric.

The Darkwater River offered little comfort to the young woman watching Ulfric Stormcloak's approach. Any girl would be fortunate to earn his admiration, she reminds herself. He sits tall and golden astride his destrier. Ulfric's bear banner held aloft by the standard-bearer, curls and snaps proudly in the breeze.

Tyven moves restlessly beneath her, perhaps he is aware, as she is, their dream of freedom is about to end. Is this a lesson she needs to learn? That to love is to lose your freedom.

Perhaps, she will raise hunting dogs or, she patted Tyven, she'll breed her horse, and sell his offspring to other adventurers. Her fine clothes will set the style across Skyrim. Carefully tutored children raised to nobility will play at her skirts.

She wonders how many times she'll give birth before, as it happens to many women, she is a worn out old woman. Ulfric would not like that. She'll have to learn a new spell or two to dispel the effects. Vika realized that might not be a worry, as soon as she gives him a son, he'll get a mistress. Then he will leave her alone to her hobbies, raising her children and administering to her local causes.

As sure as Ulfric breaks away from his squad of men and gallops toward her, she knows her days of adventure and freedom are over. A trap door as unwieldy and heavy as any dungeon closes over her heart.

The visage of brave, gentle, Ralof appears to her in the floating snowflakes. Although, she's not very proud of her behavior with him, she is not sorry. In a life filled with danger and uncertainty, he represents respite and safety to her. Ralof, like her father, are fixed certainties in her life. Once she fixes herself to Ulfric's star those certainties will melt away like spring snow. It's with a sad heart, which has resigned itself to a joyless existence; she raises her eyes to the man to whom she will bind herself.

Vika schools her features and her heart, puts a smile on her face and reaches out to Ulfric Stormcloak. When he pulls her from the saddle into his arms, she wonders abstractly what kind of a father he will be.

"Vika!"

She recognizes the angry sound of his voice and clenched jaw that is the trademark of his rages. Heedless of his men watching, Ulfric covers her face with kisses, while she stays passive and still in his arms. She knows his anger will flare at any moment and she must be ready.

Ulfric stretched his arms around her to lock her against him. At his signal, his troop of mounted soldiers wheel and began the journey back to Windhelm.

The miles roll behind them and although Ulfric's embrace was strong he neither looked at her nor spoke a word. Toward sundown, when the walls of Windhelm appeared on the horizon, he signaled his men to go on ahead. Two of them stayed with the Jarl and Vika. He pulled off the snowy road and dismounted.

"The mission to take the fort was successful?" He asked, staring into the rising sun.

"Yes, my Jarl."

"Then, why didn't you come straight back? I was worried about you, little Dragonborn." Flicking open the buckle of his helmet and pulls it from his head, he continued, "Be careful how you answer. A lesser man… A man less sure of his woman's love, might have interpreted your actions like running away."

This is it, then. She believes in his cause, she loves her family and Skyrim. She will do this for them because, at Ulfric's side, she can help those whom she loves. She thinks of Ralof's kind and open smile one more time. The taste of his kiss must last her through the years. She wonders if she will ever see the Companions again. Then Vika does as she must and seals those memories away.

"I was wounded, Ulfric. The wound required more than magic could provide. We spent the night in my home at Heljarchen Hall.

"Did he touch you?" His accusation slashed out at her as a whip.

"If you are speaking of Ralof. Of course, he touched me. He assisted Bjorn in removing the arrow from my leg. Captain Ralof and his men saved my life. Do not retaliate against them for that."

A flash of anger shutters his features for a moment. Then it's over as he renews his embrace. Against her hair he whispers, "I shall reward them, little Dragonborn. Do not worry. It is enough that you are here with me now."

With a sigh of relief she tries very hard to conceal, Vika reaches up and pulls his face down to hers. Ulfric responds by looking hard into her eyes, then cups her head with his large hand and presses his lips against hers.

It is a kiss filled with promises both dishonest and truthful. A kiss, which speaks of guarantees for both of them. A life of luxury, ease, and passion, or violence suppressed. Of partnership or ownership.

As Ulfric's body responds to Vika's kiss, he pulls her closer, forcing her to straddle his hips. Pushing her down on his hips, he leaves her no doubt of this desire.

"Take me home, Ulfric."

"Your wish is my command, My Lady."


	6. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

" _Drem_. Patience. There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting on the two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!" —Paarthurnax

* * *

 

Just before dawn, on a snowy morning, Captain Ralof led his squad from the high plains of The Pale toward Riften. They were a quiet group as they made the long ride toward the autumnal forest to face Vika's father. Even the horses made little sound as they plodded quietly through the snow with their ears slack and heads down.

As he rode along, Ralof made himself a few promises. In his heart, he knew he didn't have the power to make any of them come true. He cursed his inadequacies and hated himself for his failure to save her from Ulfric. He couldn't help himself from thinking about her and the look in her eyes when she offered herself to him. Why hadn't he done as she asked and made love to her? Together they'd have made a memory to last a lifetime.

No, he shook his blond head. It had been within his power, yet he'd pulled back. It had been the right thing to do, but what of his aching heart?

No sense pretending he was anything more than the small town boy he'd always been. The only thing that was his and no one could take away was his love for her. Finally, he admitted it, even if it was only to himself he loved her. There would never be a ceremony in a Temple of Mara for him and Vika. He was a fool to dream otherwise.

"Captain! A rider approaches," an outrider called out, twisting in the saddle to point toward a line of trees.

The young captain signaled his men to take positions along the side of the old stone road and wait.

A rider galloped toward them as if a pack of death hounds was on his heels. Captain Ralof saw the glint of early morning sunlight on red hair. Ralof shouted to his men to hold their position. Then he rode his horse into the center of the road to intercept the rider. He didn't need to see the man's face to know who it was. In his current mood, he felt inadequate to the task of taking on Brynjolf's rage.

Brynjolf hauled back on the reins of his horse and jumped down from the winded horse.

"Where is she? Where is Vika?" He asked while scanning the troops. The master thief was in no mood to wait for an answer.

Before Ralof could explain or dismount, Brynjolf read it all in his face. Enraged, Brynjolf tried to pull him out of the saddle and take a swing at him.

Ralof ducked the blow and fifty riders nudged their horses closer to the two men and fifty swords stood ready. Brynjolf didn't give a damn what they thought.

"Why isn't she with you?" He shouted into the young man's face.

Ralof wasn't about to fight him. It would do no good and would accomplish nothing toward getting her away from Ulfric. When Brynjolf picked up by the scruff of his neck, Ralof kept his hands down at his side.

"Answer me!"

Bjorn tried to come between them. "Put him down, Master Thief! It'll do none of any good to fight each other. She has her own mind and she used it. It was her decision to go with Ulfric. Now, you'll be putting our captain down or you'll be facing the end of my sword."

When Brynjolf showed no signs of backing down, Ralof spoke up. "Brynjolf, she went with him, to protect all of us. She is the bravest person I know."

Brynjolf let Ralof fall from his hands as the fight went out of him.

"Aye, you're right," Brynjolf said softly and offered a hand up to Ralof. "Sorry, lad."

The two men stood with their heads together.

"We need to work together. She'd like that and we need to trust her judgment," Ralof offered after taking a long breath of freezing air into his chest.

"There's no judgment to it when he gets his hands on her." Brynjolf slammed his fist into his hand.

"There's more to it, sir. And something I respect you enough to tell you. Will you ride with us back to Riften?"

"Aye, where else can I go? At least we can talk to the Jarl."

~o~

The velvet dress scratched against her skin. The delicately cooked venison tasted like straw in her mouth and the wine she tried to wash it down with might as well be water. If Ulfric forced another bit of food on her, she might have to excuse herself. But that would never do, because tonight the Emperor dined at her table.

She must smile, nod, and listen to the old man's prattling. Vika must also endure his wandering hands, which whenever Ulfric looked the other way he placed a hand on her thigh or upper arm. The fact that he was openly staring down the front of her dress was lost on no one. He was the Emperor and she was the Dragonborn after all.

She hated the dress Ulfric made her wear tonight. The black velvet fabric dipped low and exposed most of her breasts. He'd also forbade her to wear the usual linen shift. The tight laces pushed her breasts up so they swelled over the top of the neckline. It made her feel like the lowest sort of tavern wench. No, she thought. She'd met many tavern wenches in her travels they wouldn't have worn this dress either.

"What is it, my little Dragonborn? You seem restless." Ulfric whispered to her. "I need you on your best behavior tonight."

"Then maybe I'll just let him take what he wants. He keeps staring at my breasts, Ulfric. Shall I allow him a handful?" She looked up at him with mock shyness. In truth, she wasn't quite sure he wouldn't allow it. Anything for those people he needed to get himself placed on the High King's throne.

His battle-hardened fingers bit into her forearm. "Don't test me. I have no doubts as to the winner, my sweet."

Vika stared at the man she thought she'd once loved. Nothing but a stupid green girl was the truth of it. The death of every dragon in Skyrim hadn't taught her about the dangers and futility of searching for a father to replace the one she'd left behind. The cruel man who'd finally met his well-deserved fate at the hand of an Argonian merchant. As hot tears stung her eyes, she wished with all her heart that Brynjolf were here with her.

Yet, in the blink of her eyes, she banished her tears. Vika drew strength from the thought of her father, Brynjolf. She imagined she looked into Ralof's kind blue eyes and those were his gentle fingers on her arm. Vika lifted the hand to her mouth and kissed the cold knuckles.

"Forgive me, Ulfric? I am over-tired tonight."

Ulfric cupped his hand under her jaw. "I see that you are, little Dovahkiin. You've done your part. Make your excuses and I'll have more wine brought in to lull them all to sleep."

"Thank you, Ulfric." She decided to press her small advantage. "Perhaps later you'll come to my room and bid me sweet dreams?"

Ulfric's eyes widened at her suggestion. Although he'd kept his original promise, he still lusted after her. No amount of compliant whores or willing peasant girls had sated his desire. Slowly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and returned the kiss to her knuckles. He allowed his tongue to flick over the delicate bridge of bones.

"It would be a pleasure, my lady."

He released her hand and allowed Vika to stand. After a deep curtsy to the emperor and a wave to her guests, Vika left them to their mead.

Able to hold herself to a sedate walk worthy of a Jarl's consort, when she felt the wooden door slam behind her. She gathered up her full skirts and ran all the way to her rooms.

Yanking off the hated dress Vika pulled on a linen shift and a warm gown of dark wool. After donning soft leather shoes, she bundled her hair into a snood and slipped into the dark stone hallway.

The halls were quiet as she strolled along, grateful for the quiet. With time and thoughts to herself, her memories turned to Ralof. Where was he now, she wondered wistfully. And her parent's? Enjoying each other' company, she supposed. Although she never felt envious of their relationship, she felt herself yearning for the easy way they had with each other. When she was with them, she always felt part of the family. Sometimes she yearned for a hearth of her own.

In truth, she owned four fine homes, each with a hearth ample for cooking and warmth.

Not one of those homes, two of which she'd' built herself matched the coziness of the simple kitchen hearth at Honeyside, cooking potions with her mother or sharing stories of her adventures with her father over a cup of mulled wine and their feet warming on the stone hearth.

She loved to walk with her mother searching for plants and herbs

A particularly robust stand of Dragon's Tonguegrew on the border of Faldar's Tooth. Vika and Ingun took great pleasure in sneaking in to gather the plants and rushing away giggling like girls.

They never told Brynjolf of their adventures, but Vika always made sure she was armed well enough to protect them.

On fine days they went riding. Ingun told Vika about her childhood and growing up on Black-Briar Estate.

Vika's adoptive mother taught her to be more aloof with others of a lower class than herself and so the homeless girl had learned to behave proudly, look down on her inferiors, dress impeccably, and speak eloquently. None of those lessons prepared her for the truth. She found true friendship with her shield brothers and sisters, unconditional love in the strength of her father's embrace and the warmth of her mother's hand when she reached out across the space between their two horses to grasp her daughter's hand.

Vika stared out into the night from a secluded balcony. If these dreams were to be hers, then she must reconcile herself to Ulfric's ways.

She knew what she felt for him had been nothing more than girlish infatuation. Perhaps if she had a child of her own to love. As certain as she was that Ralof and Vilkas were gentle lovers, she knew Ulfric was not. She'd seen the results herself watching yet another whore leave the castle limping or with a bruise across her face.

Things might be different once she gave him a son…

Her wanderings brought her to the door of his bedroom. Before she'd decided if she were doing this for courage or curiosity, she was inside. The banked fire offered little light. While the one candle burning on the table cast only shadows across the dark room.

She'd been her only once, many months ago when she'd sneaked into the castle to fulfill a quest. On a dare with herself, she entered every bedroom. A quick gulp of invisibility potion had been the only thing that kept Ulfric Stormcloak from catching her in his bedroom. She'd heard him sigh before she slipped away. The exhausted sound of it made her pause. From the shadows, she'd watched him undress. The bearskin mantle landed on his bed, revealing broad shoulders and a tapered waist.

Vika remembered how her breath caught and her hands had almost reached out to touch the firm muscles. Something deep inside her wanted to smooth the restless look from his brow and rest her cheek on the large hand that moved over his chest.

She watched him move to the fireplace and place one hand on the mantle. Her mouth went dry, when the other lowered over his abdomen. Casually flipping open his trousers he pulled out his member and slowly stoked the length. She'd only stopped staring when he shouted for a page. Another gulp of potion rendered her invisible again and she ran past the page escorting a woman towards the Jarl's room. She hadn't stopped running until well hidden within a narrow stone pathway adjacent to the castle.

She is no longer that green girl who ran from this room at the sight of man. The Dragonborn stirred up the fire and folded down the fine green blanket. She released her hair and set the snood down on the table. Then with steady hands, she unlaced her gown, letting it fall to her feet. After drawing her linen shift from her body, she draped them both across a chair. With dry eyes, Vika of Riften silently laid herself down on the Jarl's bed and pulled the covers to her chin.


	7. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

"The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it." -Albert Einstein

* * *

 

Matching stride for stride two men marched up the steps to Mistveil Keep. Although different in age, bearing, and complexion, their purpose is identical, to rescue Vika from Ulfric Stormcloak's control. Intent on rescuing his daughter, a fond memory surfaces for Brynjolf of the days gone by. There was a time when he and his men would simply kidnap her. However, those days are over and times have changed. Today, in a new world he helped build, to secure Vika's release required the Jarl's backing. Brynjolf and Rolf stride through the hall, ignoring the guard's challenge and startling the Jarl's supper guests as they approached the head of the table.

They could not know that Vika decided to rescue herself, and by her actions ensure the safety of those she truly loved. If Brynjolf knew his daughter's plan he would resort to kidnapping her and damn the consequences.

Ingun rose from the feasting table to join her husband. When he reached her place at the table, he took her hand and pulled her along so she could hear what he has to say.

"My Jarl. A word?"

Laila Law-Giver, the Jarl of Riften carefully folded her linen napkin and set it next to her plate. She rose gracefully with a nod to the guards and a smile to her guests. She owed Brynjolf too much to waste time on anger at this puzzling intrusion.

Her friendship with Ingun has deepened over the months since Maven Black-Briar's arrest. The two women found much in common. Often spending the evenings chatting or quietly reading one the many books they traded with each other. It had been too long since Laila had a female friend and Ingun was happy to provide the companionship.

The Jarl stepped up to her throne with Brynjolf and Ralof behind her. With a wave of her hand, she indicated her Housecarl, Unmid Snow-Shod, to stand down. A maid offered the two men a cup of wine. Once seated, she gazed expectantly into the faces of the two men.

"You are Captain Ralof of the Stormcloaks. You have become known to us. You are loyal to Ulfric Stormcloak?"

Ralof glanced at Brynjolf and the older man returned the look, nodding to Ralof, encouraging him to give an honest answer.

"I am loyal to the Stormcloak rebellion, my Jarl. And a faithful son of Skyrim."

"Well said, Captain." The Jarl made a show of rearranging her skirts to hide her smile. That was exactly what she needed to hear from the young man. "We have heard of your bravery and now I see honesty is also among your virtues," she said, then turned her attention back to Brynjolf. "Your good lady grows fretful, Brynjolf. What assistance may we provide you and your family?"

Brynjolf took a deep swallow of wine. "My daughter completed a quest." Brynjolf knew better than to reveal the nature of the quest furthered the Blades' cause. He could only hope the Jarl didn't ask.

"Jarl, he continued, she obtained information about Ulfric Stormcloak. In fact, it's the Thalmor's dossier on Ulfric. When he was taken as a prisoner of war during the First War, they tortured him and when he broke, they made him an asset. The Thalmor don't want a victory for either side, they want to keep the war indecisive, and they're manipulating Ulfric to do it."

The Jarl frowned, "he keeps no Thalmor at this court."

Brynjolf pulled the small leather book from his shirt. "I present this to you, Jarl so you may judge its worth and decide what to do. Please consider my daughter put her life in great danger by infiltrating the Thalmor Embassy to obtain this document."

"Bryn, how did you come by this?" Ingun asked, her eyes wide with concern.

The Jarl thoughtfully read the first pages, with her brow creased with concentration.

"Vika passed it to me when I visited her in…"

"...Wait." Ingun threw up her hands, her eyes widening. "Do I even want to know?"

Brynjolf placed a hand on Ingun's hip and pulled her close. Tickling her cheek with his beard. "No one but Vika saw me, lass."

The Jarl drew his attention back by slapping the dossier on the arm of her throne. "This is unpardonable and cannot be ignored."

The small group grew somber. This was no small thing, the effects of the decisions made in the next few minutes would reach across Skyrim.

"Where is your daughter, Brynjolf?"

"With Ulfric, Lady. He doesn't allow her out of his sight."

"Do you fear for her safety?" The Jarl asked, concern written on her face and in the soft hand she placed on Ingun's wool sleeve. "Or, does she love him and wish to remain at his side?"

He didn't want to say this in front of Ingun, but the thought of his Vika emotionally chained to that monster haunted his days and left him searching for answers.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "She's no longer blinded by her feelings for him, but I think she may be staying with him, as a guarantee of our safety."

Ralof nodded his head and stepped forward. "She said as much to me, Jarl." Then Ralof searched Brynjolf's face for answers. It wasn't his story to tell, but withholding anything only made things worse.

"Aye, lad. Tell her everything."

The young captain took a long breath. "Vika suffered physical abuse at the hands of her adoptive father. I saw such scars on her..."

"We were not aware you loved the Dragonborn."

"Yes, my Jarl." Ralof turned away to hide the emotions staining his fair complexion. "I-I do love her."

"We must alert the other Jarls and share the information contained in this journal. Brynjolf, your men are the best at moving quickly and silently across the landscape. Will you one to each Hold and let them know I, Laila Law-Giver, the Jarl of Riften, call a Moot to be held in Winterhold. It's time for this to end."

"Jarl. I fear for Vika. I cannot endure the thought of what he might be…" Brynjolf stopped himself and scrubbed his beard.

"Then take your lady wife and travel there, Brynjolf. No matter what Ulfric feels for you he could not refuse a visit from his intended's parents.


	8. What is Hidden in Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Well, my goodness. I think I may have been too carried away with this chapter. So much so, that I must issue a warning about emotional triggers. There is sexual violence, battery and near rape in this chapter. Thanks for dropping by.

* * *

"You do not even know our own tongue, do you? Such arrogance! To dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!" —Alduin

* * *

The Jarl of Riften bid her guests good night, dismissed her servants, and retreated to a sleepless night by the fire. The plan to rescue Vika and stop Ulfric was set in motion, but her part must wait. For her to appear in Windhelm formal messages must be sent and arrangements made. Yet, she would worry about her friends and wait impatiently for word. The Jarl poured herself a cup of wine and opened a book. Although she didn't expect to read a word, it gave the proper appearance.

Wrapped in furs and seated on cushions as befitted their status, Brynjolf and Ingun set off at dawn in a wagon. The notion of himself riding in this level of comfort in the back of a wagon was honestly embarrassing. Already impatient before they enter the main road, Brynjolf tapped the jug of mulled wine and offered a sip to Ingun.

"No thank you, my love," she answered by laying her head on Brynjolf's shoulder. While the master thief, stared out at the landscape and chafed at his inactivity. Brynjolf took a deep sip of wine and placed his foot over the weapons wrapped in leather on the floor of the wagon. His pair of matching Dwemer daggers lay secure under his left foot.

Three hours before dawn, Delvin, Vex, Etienne Rarnis and Rune, set off on fast horses to spread the news about the Moot. Brynjolf smiled at the memory of Etienne and Rune stepping up to volunteer. He knew what his daughter had done for them and he wouldn't stop them from trying to return the favor. They were good men. Brynjolf placed an arm around his wife and encouraged her to move closer and lean against him.

~o0o~

In Windhelm, a lazy winter sun rose, sent a narrow beam of light through a window in the Palace of the Kings, waking the Dragonborn. While high above the stonewalls of Windhelm a dragon roared to greet the day. Vika sat up abruptly only to find herself shivering and alone in Ulfric's chamber. The fire is out and not even a drunk Ulfric snoring in a chair meets her inspection of the room.

What happened, she wondered? With no reason to expect him to refuse her invitation, she worried what he might be doing. Any trust she had in him is gone and her anxiety grew. Is he plotting against her father or Ralof? Will she find a drunk and angry Ulfric in the feasting hall this morning, or the attentive and affectionate suitor? She can no longer judge his mood or predict his behavior.

Tossing the blankets aside, she ignored the icy stones beneath her bare feet and yanked her gown on over her shoulders.

~o0o~

At dawn, Brynjolf assisted his wife down from the wagon at a small in Riverwood. He caught her as she stumbled. "Lass, are you ill?"

When she turned away to hid her face, he took her gently by the arms and sat her down on the bench.

"Do you want a room to rest, Ingun?"

Before she could answer, he handed a coin to a passing boy and asked him to get them a room and place warm wine and light food in the room. She kept her face turned away from him while they waited. Brynjolf decided to wait until they had some privacy before he questioned her further.

It wasn't long before the boy returned. "Lass, the room is ready." He led her in and sat her down on the bed. When he knelt in front of her to peel off her wet boots, she began to cry.

"Tell me," he said, and pushed the hood of her cloak back. Brynjolf took her and kissed her fingers to warm them. "Do ye ken there's nothing you can't tell me? Have ye been worryin' over our daughter?"

"Oh Brynjolf… please forgive me. The timing is bad and I don't even know if…"

"Ingun. Tell me now, what is it?"

She took his hand and laid it over her belly. Brynjolf spread his fingers over the slight swell. "I'm more worried about this child, my love."

"What is that you say?" The air and the light went out of the room and Brynjolf's sight narrowed down to his hand on Ingun's stomach. Tears burned his eyes and to hide them he lowered his head against her breast.

He didn't deserve any of this. Not the love of a daughter, not the sweet affection from this woman and not the respect of a Jarl. He was a thief, plain and simple. What good has he ever done in his life to deserve these gifts? Yet, these things had come to him. These gifts of love straight from The Nine. Now, he's to become a father again. A child for them to love and raise together.

"Lass, you brought me more happiness in this last year than I've known in my whole life. You know that…" He didn't wait for an answer, rose up on his knees, and kissed her gently.

"Ye lay here and I'll get some good soup to warm you." At the door, he stopped "Lass, I could not love you more." Brynjolf dragged a sleeve across his face and went in search of soup.

~o0o~

Vika reached for the massive door to Ulfric's bedchamber to call for a maid to lace her up, when the door abruptly opened in her face. A young girl stood there trying to catch her breath.

"Take your time, Maida. Lace me up while you tell me."

"My Lady! The Greybeards were sighted on the road not five miles from the bridge!"

Visibly shocked, Vika clutched her throat and stepped back as if looking for somewhere to hide. The Greybeards! What possible reason could they have to come down from the mountain? Vika glanced down at herself. This black velvet thing from last night wouldn't do at all. She hated it last night and hated it even more now.

"Quick, get me the black wool from my chest. Run, girl!"

The frightened girl did as she was told and came running back with the plain black wool gown. Between the two of them, Vika was dressed and her hair braided in minutes. The maid placed a small circlet of gold and emeralds on her brow. Now impatient to be off, the Dragonborn thanked the maid and hurried down the corridor. What should she offer the Greybeards? She'd never seen them eat! What was appropriate? Talos! She'd never heard of them coming down from the mountain.

Vika ordered warm spiced wine, fresh bread and cheese from the sleepy kitchen staff and hurried through to the feasting hall. There she finally found Ulfric, with a jug of blood wine resting on his belly, slouched against the back of this throne.

"Come here, little dragonborn! I've missed you."

He was drunk. A thin chill of fear crept up her spine, spreading gooseflesh over her skin.

"I said, come here!"

Swallowing her anxiety, Vika walked toward Ulfric. Disobeying him only made things worse. With the Greybeards close by, the situation was bad enough. As she approached, he set the jug down and wiped his face on his sleeve. "Come here, I've a mind to hold you."

She'd faced down dragons, Mercer Frey, vampires, and Daedric Princes. She could do this and manage the situation. Straightening her shoulders, reminded herself who she was and approached the Jarl of Windhelm.

"What's that you're wearing? Ugly thing. Wwwere's the pretty clothes I bought you with coin from my own purse? His words were harsh and slurred."

"I was cold this morning, Ulfric. I waited for you last night…"

"Aye, I remember." He waved his hand. "I was in a dark mood last night, pet. Not fit for your fine company." With an eye on her breasts, Ulfric leaned forward and caught her by the arm. "I've dismissed the servants, little dragonborn."

His other hand reached around and grabbed her braid. Anxiety blossomed into panic when he began to coil thick braid in his fist. The gold circlet clattered to the stone floor and rolled away. Until, finally, she stood between his knees.

Every instinct told her to run, but her legs refused to move. Once, she'd loved this man. But this wasn't love, not with his eyes clouded with drink and lust. His breath sour and hot on her flesh. He sat forward and rubbed his face against her breasts. Then forced her down between his thighs.

"Let me have a look at you."

Before she could push away or force muscles to obey her will, the seams of her plain wool gown parted easily to the strength of his large hands. Vika grabbed at the fabric, but Ulfric slapped her hands and pushed the gown to her knees. Gooseflesh puckered her skin, she felt her nipples contract in the freezing air of the hall.

Ulfric weighed her breasts in his hands. "Ah, look at you now. So firm and high." He chuckled, "Of course, that won't last once I fill you with babes, but they're a tasty mouthful now. I'll soon warm them and you'll enjoy the feeling of my mouth on you, pet."

Vika closed her eyes and willed herself away.

High on an alpine meadow, Tyven and she streaked across the landscape like the wind itself. Swirling snow and scattering the wild animals. She gave him his head and he gained speed, charging up a hillside. At the top, he paused, shaking his head, his thick mane scattering the snow that clung to it. Vika leaned over in the saddle and hugged his neck.

A sharp pain brought her back to the reality of Ulfric's hands on her breasts. He'd pinched her nipples to regain her attention. He grinned at her, "Look pet." He grasped his crotch with his hand, wrapping his hand around his swollen member. Stroking it while she watched in horror. "I know you're strange to the ways of a man, but we'll take of that together, pet."

"Get your filthy hands off me!"

With a roar, he knocked her to the floor with swipe of a meaty fist. Vika stayed where she'd fallen. Swaying on her hands and knees until her vision cleared. In a moment, he was on her again, picking her up by the hips and tossing her onto his throne. Bile rose burning her throat at the smell of the velvet seat, wine, sweat, and lust made her gag. She sensed he kept her face pressed into the seat to keep her from using her magic. She could hardly breathe. Then he suddenly released her to strip the gown away from her legs.

She would ride away when this was over, ride to the edge of Skyrim. Perhaps up to Winterhold, where with just a touch of her spurs, Tyven would take her over the edge of the cliffs. They would fly over the ice fields and disappear forever into the mist.

She felt Ulfric's fingers bite into her waist.

Perhaps, high on some mountaintop, she'd summon a dragon. It might even be Alduin, himself, who answered her call. Then she would stand tall while he purified her in the fires of his rage.

"What are these scars?" Ulfric raged with renewed anger. Rough hands on her shoulders yanked her back. His hands roamed over the raised flesh. His mouth replaced his hand, as his arm twisted around her waist.

"So you like it rough, pet? You've been holding out on me. We'll have such fun…," he murmured as he kissed and licked his way across the one thing she hid from the world. The one shame she couldn't overcome. Her Da tried and Ralof had too. She loved them both so much. But this shame ran deep and now would come full circle, for her father only beat her, never touched her or done to what Ulfric was about to do.

Silent tears slipped down Vika's cheeks as thought of the people she loved and the sorrow that she would never see them again. At least, her Da would understand.

The great wooden doors of the feasting hall slammed open. The cutlery on the long table rattled and an icy wind rushed down the hall. Ulfric heard it dimly, but dismissed it because he knew the guards would take care of whomever it was intruding on his privacy.

"ULFRIC STORMCLOAK!"

Suddenly she was free of his grip and twisted away to ready her magic.

A wave of sound vibrated across the hall, knocking her to her knees. She watched Ulfric sail across the room to land with a crack of bones against the back wall of the feasting hall. A bloody streak followed him to the floor.

Hands reached for her. To her surprise, Brother Arngeir and Brother Einarth helped her to her feet. When Arngeir tried to place his own robe over her shoulders, Delvin stepped in.

"Off with you old man. She was ours before she was yours."

The Brothers backed away and went to check on Ulfric. Delvin quickly wrapped her in a blanket of soft lamb's wool. Vex and Delvin held her between the two of them, while Etienne and Rune stood by, weapons drawn.

"Thank Talos, you got here in time… Delvin… Delvin."

"Cry it out, Vika. You're safe now and looks like the Greybeards have Ulfric under control."

"I was so ignorant…"

He rubbed her back, while Vex smoothed hair away from her face. With a kindness, Vika had never heard from Vex, the older woman spoke softly. "Not a one of us that hasn't had our head's and heart's turned by the wrong sort. No one will judge you. If they try, I'll cut their throat."

Vika couldn't help but laugh at Vex's familiar and predictable response. Delvin kissed the top of her head, "There's our girl, back again."


	9. What is Hidden in Snow

* * *

"I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king."

—Boromir, Fellowship of the Ring, LotR

* * *

About a mile from the stone bridge, Brynjolf heard the sound of galloping hooves.

"You'd best pullover, lad. Sounds like a dozen or more."

The drive nodded and guided the horse to a flat snowy area just off the road. Apparently, unconcerned if they were friend or foe the horse dropped his head to paw up the snow searching for grass.

Quite the opposite, Brynjolf pushed his wife down on the floorboards, grabbed a Dwemer bow, and slid his matching daggers into this chest strap of his thief's armor. The first dagger had clattered to the wood planks before Brynjolf remembered he wasn't wearing any armor at all.

 _"Nocturna!"_ he swore, frustrated and angry at his predicament. He fervently wished he hadn't allowed the Jarl to talk him into wearing this fancy court getup. Tossing the finely woven green robe aside, Brynjolf jammed the blades into the decorative belt.

Seconds later a squad of a dozen riders charged around the bend snow flying in all directions. The sound of metal bits, weapons, and leather muted in the drifted snow. The horse's breath rolled like waves of steam, circling their heads and obscuring the riders.

The leader rider threw up his fist for to signal his squad to stop and slid his horse to a halt next to the wagon. The destrier snorted and reared at the rough handling.

"Brynjolf!" Ralof shouted, relieved to see the master thief. "One of my spies in the Palace sent a warning. Ulfric's gone mad. Our lady may be in danger. Take this horse, we must make haste." Ralof whistled, and a horse cantered up.

"You'll not go without me, Husband."

"Ye canna ride, Ingun. The babe." Brynjolf yelled while Ralof motioned two of his soldiers to escort Ingun to Windhelm.

"I've been riding since I was…" She exclaimed with her hands on her hips. "And just who taught you to ride a horse, Master Thief?"

"You're as stubborn a lass as they come." Brynjolf lifted Ingun off the wagon and into his arms. Settling her in the saddle in front of him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Then with his strong arms on each side of her protecting her from a fall, they resumed their gallop toward Windhelm.

The guards didn't challenge them as they galloped into the town, their shod horses striking sparks on the icy stone bridge. Equally, surprising the gates opened for them, and they continued their rush up the lane to the great doors of the Palace of the Kings.

Brynjolf made it through the doors first with Ralof on his heels. His daughter's bright red hair shone like a beacon, and he headed straight for her. He found her kneeling next Ulfric Stormcloak. His sharp eyes followed the trail of blood.

"Da!" She cried and jumped to her feet. Dressed in a simple gown of embroidered muslin and a green surcoat, Vex had helped her clean up and dress. Although, Brynjolf saw the anxiety in her eyes, at least he hadn't seen her on her hands and knees before Ulfric. It was a tale the Greybeards would never tell.

"Lass," with is arms opened wide he caught her as she threw herself at him. "Are ye alright my daughter, we heard the news."

Vika raised her head and looked around the room, "How could you have arrived so quickly?

"Your Mother and I decided to make a visit to our betrothed daughter." He lowered his voice, "The Jarl thought it a good cover to make sure you were safe and healthy." She gasped when Brynjolf touched her cheek, and Vika turned her face away. All her action accomplished was Brynjolf seeing the red handprint on her cheek and the bite mark on her shoulder. She yanked the surcoat up to hide it, but her father had already seen it. He closed his eyes and willed himself to stillness. Then Brynjolf pushed her sleeves up and discovered the bruising. The twisted discoloration from Ulfric's hand glowed red and hot in the firelight.

"Brynjolf, Master Thief. The Brothers of High Hathor would speak with you." Arngeir's command rocked the stones in their mortar.

"It's alright, Da." Vika placed a hand on her mother's arm to reassure. "They… They rescued… Never mind. We must hear what they have to say. Ulfric doesn't have much time, and he's beyond anyone's skill to save."

Arngeir stared at a point only he could see and waited. Members of the court filtered into the feasting hall in ones and twos. No one dared say a word. Guards rested hands on the hilt of their swords.

Finally, he spoke, "The Jarl's approach! We shall wait their arrival."

The occasional murmur and soft moans from Ulfric were the only sounds in the hall. Vika stood quietly flanked by her mother and father. Ralof came as close as he dared. His movement caught Vika's attention, and they locked eyes. Rage flared in his blue eyes, and she watched his fists clench. Her heart ached with shame that he could see the bruises.

Vika misunderstood Ralof's behavior. Frustration and sadness clenched his fists together, not anger. Of course, he could see the bruises. He resolved at that moment that he would not leave her side again. She will become his wife or he will become her companion and they'll adventure together. One or the other would happen. Ralof reached out for her, and his heart soared when she accepted the hand he offered, lacing her fingers through his.

All eyes turned toward the great doors as one by one the Jarls of Skyrim entered the Feasting Hall. Like a funeral procession, they approached the throne. Deliberately ignoring the commotion around them, stewards quickly filled the table with wines, mead, and food.

"You little bastard let go of my woman!" Somehow, Ulfric had made it to his feet and staggered toward Ralof waving a knife, "Get your dirty son of a whore's hands off her."

With all eyes upon them, Ralof stepped in front of Vika and faced Ulfric. "No one will listen to your raving Stormcloak. The truth is known, and the Jarl's have to come to formally dispose of you."

"Dispose of me? I'm the Jarl of Windhelm," he shouted. "Leader of the Stormcloak rebellion. I'll be the high king someday!"

Laila the Lawgiver, Jarl of Riften, stepped to the dais. "Listen to me! This diary was made known to me by the heroic efforts of Vika the Dragonborn. It details Ulfric's capture and torture by the Thalmor. They made him a deal. A deal, which he honors to this very day. The Thalmor wishes the civil war to continue, and Ulfric agreed to assist them in keeping the land, our land, in chaos and strife. Each of you may read this diary. But I declare now in the presence of the Jarls and the Brothers of High Hrothgar that Ulfric Stormcloak is a Thalmor spy and traitor to the Fatherland!"

Encircled by the Jarls, Ulfric staggered back at the revelation. The secret he'd fought to keep was out. His carefully structured world was falling around him.

"I ended the civil war by defeating the Jarl of Whiterun. My armies… My Stormcloak armies… Will rule Skyrim under Ulfric the Bear's banner. Ulfric the High King of Skyrim! The Dovahkiin will rule by my side and give me the sons I require so that my bloodline will rule Skyrim forever!"

Oblivious to the Brother's movements behind him, Ulfric continued his ranting as they all watched the last of his sanity drain away. The once proud man, now bent and spitting his words, while blood continued to drip down his back from the head wound and stain the his fur mantle.

In a movement quicker than the eye could follow, Brother Einarth snatched the knife from Ulfric's hand. The once proud man cried out and scuttled away like a snow spider.

"I have no sons. But my little dragonborn will finally yield to me and give me all the sons I need! Where is my little pet? Come out! Come out! We haven't finished our playtime! You've tempted me long enough…"

Ulfric stopped shouting to look down at the Dwemer knife protruding from his chest. His heart's blood began to spurt rhythmically around the blade.

"Before you die, Stormcloak. Let it be known the captain of your guard, Ralof of Riverwood is your son!" The Brother's voice rang through the Feasting Hall. "Bastard he may be, but he is an honorable, brave man and your heir. Now die, Stormcloak and rid us of your taint!"

Eyes round with fear, Ulfric clutched futilely at the dagger embedded in his chest while his eyes searched the crowd.

"Ah, there you are my pet! Don't listen to their rantings of the bastard. Come heal me with your magic. Please, little dragonborn… I loved you… Vika… I tried…"

Vika turned her face into her mother's shoulder and wept, not for shame or fear, because it was over. The nightmare, which she allowed to happen, because of her girlish crush was at an end. As she straightened her shoulders and wiped her eyes, she took on the mantle of an adult woman. Vika discovered even more courage in her mother's understanding smile.

A few steps away stood her father, waiting for his daughter's response to what he'd just done. She could either hate him forever for killing Ulfric or forgive him. The burning moisture in his eyes blurred the lines of Vika's face so that he couldn't see her reaction.

"Da." Was all he heard until she was in his arms and thanking him for ending her nightmare.

"I thought you might hate me, lass. But I could not hear more from him concerning you. I should have protected you better than I have."

She smoothed his face with her hands. "You have protected me. You came to my room that night and forced me to think about what I was allowing to happen. My arrogant and girlish ways were hurting the ones I loved."

"Aye and you offered yourself to him to protect us."

"It seemed the only answer. He would not allow me out of his sight. Da… He almost won. He hurt me… if the Brother's had not shown up…"

"Hush, Lass. We'll have time to talk about that later." Over Vika's shoulder, Brynjolf watched Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Windhelm, fall headlong to the stones of his Feasting Hall and move no more. The master thief swallowed over a dry throat. He'd just assassinated a Jarl.

"I demand more proof than the ranting of these old men!" Siddgeir the Jarl of Falkreath, shouted, slamming his fist on the table planks.

No one heard the door open again, until a diminutive blond woman with lines of anguish on her face and the effects of hard work on her hands, spoke. "It is the truth!"

"Who is this? This peasant?"

"She's my sister and if you call her a peasant again, you'll answer to me."

"Oh, what's this? The cub speaks?"

"Shut your mouth, Siddgeir. You add nothing and help not at all." The Jarl of Winterhold waved his cup toward the Brothers. "We all need to hear what they have to say."

Ralof hurried to her side, "Gerdur what are you doing here? It's not safe. Everything is in chaos."

Gerdur embraced Ralof, "I love you, Ralof. Remember that when you decide you can't forgive me for what I'm about to say."

"Gerdur, what is it?"

She shook her head at Ralof and looked to the crowd, "Hear me, now! When I was but fourteen summers, Ulfric passed through Riverwood and took me for his amusement. He cared not that I was a maid and ignorant of the ways of men. Next morning, he left with his men and me with a child growing in my belly. The good people of Riverwood could not save me from Ulfric, but they protected me and my unborn child by giving out the story that Ralof was my orphaned brother from Cyrodiil."

"The wench lies!"

"I do not lie. Bring out Galmar Stone-Fist. He was there, and he came back later to check on the child and give me enough money to make a success of the Sawmill. Ask him yourself!"

Skald the Elder, the Jarl of Dawnstar, stepped forward, "Aye, bring him out, and I'll vouch for the truth of it. One night, deep in his cups, Ulfric revealed to me that he left a bastard behind in a small town. I didn't make much of it at the time because I imagined he'd left many such offspring across Skyrim."

The sound of dragon's wings beat a tattoo against the windows and doors of the Palace of Kings. The great wooden doors crashed open. Servants screamed, and outside guards shouted to one another. A single voice drowned out the other sounds, vibrating the air with its power.

"Do not question the wisdom of my Brothers! _Zu'u paarthurnax saag nii los vahzah ahrk tol los ganog_...I speak the truth!"

Vika emerged from the crowd, calling to the great white dragon. _"Fahvos lost hi ni fun zey do daar us, Dovah_ …Why have you not told me of this before, Dragon!"

"Because Dovahkiin, the _tiid_ … The time was not right. Now it is _genun_ … revealed."

"I have all the proof I need," shouted Skald the Elder.

"And for me as well. Let the boy speak," Elisif the Jarl of Solitude called out.

"Aye, let him speak!" Came shouts from across the hall.

Ralof of Riverwood, a small town country boy, grown into a man as captain of Ulfric's Stormcloaks, moved to the front of the Hall, and turned to face the crowd. Before speaking, he unwound the blue cloth from around his shoulders and tossed it deliberately to the stones.

Vika stepped back from her parents. With all eyes on the Ralof, it took her only a moment to cast the spell that allowed her to flee the Hall unnoticed. She ran down the snowy steps, calling for the dragon.

"Paarthurnax! Come back!"

Searching the skies for him she nearly stumbled on ice and broken stone. With a great flurry of white wings, he scooped her off the ground and held her until she climbed aboard his neck.

"Take me away," she sobbed, hugging his great neck. "Take me high into the freezing air of my Skyrim so that I may think upon all that has happened."

"You allow the scars on your back to weigh you down. It's like a shield you carry. _Ris tum hin spaan, Dovah_ …Put it down, Dovah. You have carried it long enough. _Stin_ … Freedom grants you the opportunity to live a fuller life than the narrow path you now trod. Weep if you must, then sleep in the safety of my protection. When you are ready I will take you back to Winterhold."

Paarthurnax stretched his wings and headed south where the Dovahkiin might be warmed by the sun of Skyrim and woken from her frozen sleep and freed from the prison of her demons.


	10. What is Hidden in Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many of the references in this chapter refer to the first story about Brynjolf and Vika, To Take a Tree From the Forest. In addition, Ulfric's throne is actually carved from stone. However, I like the idea of chopping it up for firewood. A garderobe is a medieval term for privy or what we now call a bathroom, but without running water.

* * *

"The end of a melody is not its goal: but nonetheless, had the melody not reached its end it would not have reached its goal either. A parable." ― Friedrich Nietzsche

"There's no glory in war. It's just something they tell soldiers so they'll risk their lives." ―Brunwulf Free-Winter

* * *

It wasn't merely a sensational event, or the marriage of the year, or the biggest thing to happen in Skyrim in years. The marriage of Vika the Dovahkiin of Riften to Ralof, son of Ulfric Stormcloak, of Riverwood, was the marriage of a generation.

The woman, who'd saved them all from the dragon threat, was marrying the son and heir of Ulfric Stormcloak. The civil war was over, the Nords controlled their own destiny again, and Skyrim is at peace. The snow lays comfortably where it falls now, no longer churned by the hooves of warhorses, or clotted with the blood of Nords.

The couple's brave deeds silenced any suspicion of their mysterious pasts and questionable lineage. Both of them had overcome tremendous adversity. The fact they'd escaped Helgen together in the face of certain death from a dragon cast a Skyrim-style romantic glow over the ceremony.

During the weeks before the wedding, workers scrubbed The Feasting Hall in the Palace of Kings from top to bottom. First, they striped the halls of The Bear of Eastmarch hangings. Then they chopped Ulfric's throne into firewood. The Garderobes emptied and washed clean with fresh water. The long feasting table scoured with boiling water and the stone floors scrubbed clean. Fresh flowers decorated the hall and sweet smelling herbs added their perfume to the air. Additional braziers placed at intervals down the sides of the room created more light and heat.

All was in readiness. The guests had been arriving for three days now. The Priestesses of Mara and Talos were housed at the Inn. A small group of bards would play for the guests and the wedding feast planned to the last detail. A bride and groom is all that is required.

~o0o~

Ralof stood in the Jarl's quarters thinking of his bride. Still pushed against the walls the furniture disappeared into the shadows. They'd decided to wait until after the wedding to make personal changes to the old Palace. They also intended to take time to design Jarl Ralof's new banner.

A smiled twitched his lips as he remembered the night they'd thrown Ulfric's mattress and coverlet off the battlement. They'd laughed like children, and she'd kissed him impulsively. The feel of her lips on his cheek suddenly took on new significance. A new urgency burned through him at that moment leaving him breathless and hungry. She'd frowned in confusion at his behavior when he took her by the arm and led her back inside.

On clear days, their stirrups touching they'd ridden many miles together, making plans and talking softly. On warm afternoons, they walked the streets of Windhelm. She'd shown him the filthy lower streets, the ghetto where the Dunmer were forced to live.

"What is this place?" He'd asked in genuine surprise.

Vika responded solemnly, her eyes sad and haunted. "This is the Gray Quarter, where the Dark Elves are forced to live. They are a proud people and I count many of them as friends. They cannot find work so they cannot afford to leave. We could make this a better place, Ralof. Clean it up and fix the sewage problem. He cared nothing for these people. Give this place to the fishermen and the boats crews. Encourage the Elves to add an inn with hot food, good drink, and well-stocked stores. End the bigotry, Ralof. And then we can discuss the issues of the Khajiit and the Argonian's."

Ralof took a deep sip of wine and remembered when the Jarls called out for him to speak. He'd very much wanted Vika at his side at that moment, but she'd left. It wasn't until later that she'd told him she listened to every word, when finally, he'd found his voice.

"You'll forgive my hesitation. This morning I was a young man living on a soldier's pay saving up for a trip to visit my sister. This afternoon, I'm the son and heir of Ulfric Stormcloak," he said, his voice strengthening with every word.

"I accept your proposal to become the Jarl of Windhelm. Many things could be improved here in the Eastmarch Hold. Together we vanquished the Imperials from our land. The Thalmor will find their bite grows less painful, and their growl quieted with every passing season. Together, with assistance and cooperation of the other Jarl's, we can heal the wounds and soothe the fears the Imperials and the Thalmor inflicted on us."

After he finished speaking and he still wasn't sure where all those words or the courage to speak them had come from, he'd called for the guards to open the doors and invite the people of Windhelm into the Hall. One by one the people of Windhelm filed into the Hall. Stewards and maids offered everyone food and drink. Even the Dunmer entered eyes wide.

"Jarls of Skyrim please accept the hospitality of Windhelm and stay until we hammer out a few ideas to work on when you return home. Jorleif will you accept the position of my Steward and remain here?"

"Yes, I would be honored."

"Then tomorrow is soon enough to begin. Today we will celebrate peace."

He'd gotten drunk that night. Drunker than he'd been in his entire life until finally he'd found a chair in the war room and passed out. Four months later, he stood in front of his hearth on a spring morning waiting for his wedding. Jorleif had already announced the arrival of the priests of Mara.

A knock on his door roused him from his thoughts. "Come," he called out. His sister… mother entered, and he could tell she'd been crying. Ralof went straight to her.

"I'm sorry the truth had to come that way," he said gently and gathered her in his arms. "I imagine there were many times you wished to tell me the truth. How could you not have hated me?"

"Hate you? I longed to call you my son."

"Then do so now and do not weep, Mother. We were always together, planning adventures, singing, making up stories, and working hard. Many Skyrim children cannot claim that."

Several yards from where the Jarl of Windhelm stood, his bride sat silently inside Hjerim with her parents. Her face is pale with anxiety, with cold hands fisted into her skirts. Filled with spring flowers, fresh candles, and gifts her home smelled of sweetness and life. So lost in her contemplations, she saw none of it.

Her parents sat quietly ready to offer whatever she needed. Brynjolf felt, although he didn't mention it, that he might have to stop her from bolting. He knew his little girl, and he'd seen her in many kinds of situations. The expression on her face let him know she planned to make a run for it. She knew how to survive in the wilds of Skyrim better than anyone he knew. If she ran, he had no doubt she wouldn't be found unless she wished it.

In fact, that's exactly what she was planning. Saddled and ready at the dock, her horse, Tyven stamped and neighed his impatience. When she glanced at the door, she felt her father's fingers close over hers. Damn him, anyway. She couldn't bait him into running after her, and she knew he would. Not with her mother dozing on the bench, six months gone with child.

This was the prettiest dress she'd ever owned. Sewn from green silk, brought from the Imperial City, the heavily embroidered gown flowed over her body like shimmering water. In her ears and around her neck were perfect pearls, given to her by Ralof as a wedding gift. If she ran for it, the hem would be ruined in the spring mud. With no proper cloak and boots, she'd freeze to death. She was already cold in this thin dress and even more delicate undergarments.

Vika stuck her toes out from under the hem of her wedding dress. Fine kidskin leather, they were embroidered all over with tiny snowberries and wildflowers. These beautiful, useless shoes would certainly be ruined in just two steps. The headdress covered with fresh spring flowers itched and the veil covering her long red hair tugged annoyingly at her head.

Might as well get married, she thought with a sad sigh and a kick of her feet. Nothing else to do. She'd actually been to Sovngarde, killed Alduin, and shut down the Dark Brotherhood. Her Thu'um pulled many a dragon out of the sky and knocked trolls to their death. She'd dabbled in vampirism and been a werewolf for exactly twelve hours (and that had been quite enough of that). Her silver sword collection, rivaled Aela's and hangs proudly in the Jorrvaskr. She'd cut the heads off witches, traveled the wilds of Solstheim and spent days lost in the bowels of more than a few Dwemer ruins.

Maybe, she thought, slipping a finger under the headdress to scratch, as head of the Mage's College, she could disappear into its dark halls and become a reclusive mystic, or a traveling bard. Yes, a traveling bard! Perfect. She'd ride Tyven from town to town, sleep under the stars, and keep her freedom.

Brynjolf's hand tightened over her fingers. "Lass," was all he said. When she looked up at him, he shook his head. "Walk with me." He walked her upstairs, down the hallway and sat her down in one of the bedrooms. "Tell me true. What troubles you?"

"Da, I'm s-scared."

"Of what? Not dragons, nor mages, nor vampires, or trolls. Are ye afraid of Ralof?"

"Maybe."

"Before I understood who you were, you showed no fear of me. Shy and reserved, yes. But you weren't afraid of me and you weren't afraid of Vilkas…"

"…How do you know about that?"

"He told me with many apologies and promises about that kiss. I think he was afraid of what I might do, or have done to him. Listen to me, Ralof loves you. He will be gentle and patient with you. A man, who genuinely loves a woman, holds her happiness above all else."

"Did you and Mother…?" her eyes darted away. "You know."

He grabbed her chin. "Never thought to be having this conversation, with anyone and certainly not a daughter. Your Ma spent ten years drugged and enslaved by her mother. Her only memories of the two of us were that of a young girl. To answer your question my impertinent child, I let her take her time. We fell in love all over again as adults. Only then were we intimate. Ralof will do the same. He will, or I will put my other dagger in his chest. I killed one Jarl; I can do it again."

The effect he hoped for showed in her eyes, when they lite up with mirth. "Da! You shouldn't say such things!"

They laughed together, until Brynjolf placed his hands on her cheeks. "In a few minutes I will hand you into Ralof's love and protection. You will become the wife of a Jarl. Do I want to let you go? No. Is this the normal way of men and women, of course, it is. Heed my words, beautiful daughter; I will always be at your service. If you need me, I will come running. Always. Do ye ken?"

"I love you, Da."

"I love you, too. Now, don't cry. You'll ruin your pretty face and Ralof will think the worst."

A knock at the door brought her head up and she clutched at her father's hands. "Lass, it's time."

Brynjolf held her hand all the way to the Palace. The workers hand scrubbed away the dirty ice and snow. The pathway from her home to the palace door now covered with sweet smelling straw strewn with flowers and herbs.

Vika trembled all the way there. When the guards opened the door to admit the bride and her family, Vika found Ralof with her eyes and her mouth formed a silent, oh. There stood her betrothed straight and tall clad in a robe of green wool the exact color of her dress. Around his blond head was a jeweled circlet of emeralds.

"Oh, Da. He's so handsome."

"Aye, he is, lass. Are you ready to go to him?"

With her eyes locked on Ralof's face, she walked with her father to the end of the hall to a raised dais covered with flowers. Brynjolf kissed her cheek before handing her over to the smiling blond Nord.

Then she was standing next to him and they exchanged their vows. The priestesses recited the Ten Commands of the Nine Divines, intending to alternate between the phrases, before they began, the Talos priestess called out to the guests.

"Ralof and Vika wish the commandments recited at this time to promise, as Ralof and Vika made promises to each other, and remind all who stand together in this great hall they are one people, united in the desire to exist in peace and return all of Skyrim to its former glory. If you feel moved to do so, please recite along with us. And so they began,

_Stendarr says: Be kind and generous to the people of Tamriel. Protect the weak, heal the sick, and give to the needy._

_Arkay says: Honor the earth, its creatures, and the spirits, living and dead. Guard and tend the bounties of the mortal world, and do not profane the spirits of the dead._

_Mara says: Live soberly and peacefully. Honor your parents, and preserve the peace and security of home and family._

_Zenithar says: Work hard, and you will be rewarded. Spend wisely, and you will be comfortable. Never steal, or you will be punished._

_Talos says: Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel._

_Kynareth says: Use Nature's gifts wisely. Respect her power, and fear her fury._

_Dibella says: Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship. Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love._

_Julianos says: Know the truth. Observe the law. When in doubt, seek wisdom from the wise._

_Akatosh says: Serve and obey your Emperor. Study the Covenants. Worship the Nine, do your duty, and heed the commands of the saints and priests._

_The Nine say: Above all else, be good to one another."_

When they finished, the priestess allowed several moments of silence before she raised her hands, "Ralof, Jarl of Windhelm you may kiss your bride and present her to your people."

Hours later, Vika found a quiet corner to catch her breath. She'd been kissed by every male in the crowd and hugged breathless by all the females. She'd danced with Vilkas and Farkas, and once or twice both of them at the same time. She'd danced with her father and her husband, the Jarls and Delvin.

Rune, Dirge, Etienne and Cynric sang, to the delight and cheers of the guests, a bawdy song to her. Vekel the Man, shyly presented her with a bottle of Argonian blood wine, in case, he said with a wink, her groom required fortification. Sapphire and Vex presented her with an illustrated copy of The Complete Guide to Tamriel Sexual Positions.

The Argonian Assembly toasted to the couple's health and the Dark Elves were too shy to speak, but presented the couple with several bolts of green fabric and a promise to embroider the cloth with the new Eastmarch emblem. The hall was still full of people and she was exhausted, happy, and terrified. With a full bottle of ale, she located this quiet corner and intended to drink by herself.

That is, until a familiar hand removed the bottle from her grasp and led her down the corridor to the Jarl's chamber. Ralof opened the door and tugged her gently by the hand.

The fire burned brightly and warmed the room. Good beeswax candles softened the shadows with flickering light. In front of the fireplace, a great bearskin rug, with blankets and pillows waiting nearby.

He removed the headdress and combed her hair with his fingers, "Vika, I want to say one thing before anything else. When you were injured, we had to undress you. My wife, I saw the scars on your back. No one else saw them but me. I asked your father, but he said it was your story to tell. So know this too, I love you and nothing, you could say or tell me, will change that. When you are ready, I will listen."

She laughed and grabbed a glass of wine. It wasn't a happy laugh and chilled Ralof to his bones.

"I have much to take pride in," she began, speaking over her shoulder. Yet, all I feel is shame at what I allowed to happen with Ulfric. I stupidly repeated exactly what I had with my adoptive parents.

Ralof, I know I'm the Dragonborn, I know I am the daughter of Brynjolf and Ingun and a child of Riften. But that's all I know for sure. You look at me with love in your eyes. I don't know how to trust it. I don't understand what it means. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it.

"Take my hand, Vika. I am not my father. He almost brutalized you. I see the bruises. I saw the scraps on your knees and hands. I also know the Brothers managed to arrive in time to save you. I would never take from you more than you wished to give. It is enough that you trust me enough to hold your hand."

"Just like that day at Helgen. I was so scared… he had complete control over me… like my father... No one in the Palace stood up for me. That's why I ran away. I was ashamed and not worthy to stand by your side."

With gentle and careful hands, Ralof pushed her hair over her shoulder and slowly unlaced the back of her dress. "You are beautiful…" He kissed the whip scar on her shoulder blade. "You are brave…" He kissed the burn scar on her upper spine and slid his hands under the remaining fabric on her shoulders. "I need my clever woman by my side…" He kissed another whip mark and ghosted his fingers over her bare back. "The scars, your father and Ulfric placed on you, are too heavy for you to carry alone. Look at me, Vika."

She didn't notice that her gown fell to her hips when she turned in the circle of her husband's embrace. With one hand in her hair, Ralof kissed his wife, while his other hand opened his own robe. So that when she leaned against him, encircling her arms around his firm waist, they touched skin to skin. Ralof buried his face in her hair and said fiercely before he laid her down on the rug, "I love you, wife! Never doubt this love."

* * *

 

wiki/Lore:Ten_Commands:_Nine_Divines


	11. What is Hidden in Snow Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for following the story. While I tried to think of a name for Brynjolf and Ingun's son, I suddenly remembered my own grandfather's name was Sigurd.

* * *

Generous and brave men live the best. - _Hávamál_ st. 48

* * *

"Someone get this bloody Skeever away from me!" Brynjolf shouted causing little Einarr to scream in fear and his own son to cry.

The nurses came running and scooped the two boys up in their arms.

Almost a year and half old, his son enjoyed pulling at his father's beard and now that he could sit up on his own, he especially enjoyed riding on his father's shoulders. Brynjolf groaned silently at the big blue-eyed tearful stare his son cast at him from over the nurse's shoulder.

"Sigurd, you're naught but a trickster."

That got a toothless grin out of his son.

"Come here, boy."

Sigurd clapped with glee when his father put him on his shoulders.

"You're only spoiling him, sir. He'll be that much hard to handle when he's older."

"Bah! Give me the babe, lass. I know how to handle men." With one child in his arms and the other on his shoulders, Brynjolf headed outside. These boys didn't get enough fresh air. The damn nurses were always worried about one of them catching a lung sickness or an infection. Nords were tough and he was determined to raise these boys as proper Nords.

His wife met him at the door. "Vika wishes to see her son and it's time for Sig's nap."

"That's it boys. We're caught. We'll do our time and then it's a wild adventure for the three of us."

"Stop talking to these two as if they were members of the thieves' guild and stop terrorizing those dark elves," Ingun said, shaking her head. Brynjolf handed his son to her and kissed her soundly on the lips. Their little boy clapped his hands.

"I'll take Einarr to his mother. I'll see you at supper, lass." With three-month-old Einarr in his arms, Brynjolf headed to his daughter's room. He found her sitting up in a chair by the window reading.

"Lass, it's good to see you up."

She greeted him with a smile and held out her arms for Einarr. "I feel so much better today."

"Aye, the color is back in your cheeks and I can see the gold shining in your hair."

Brynjolf had to hide his face by looking out the window, when it hit him just how close to losing her they'd come. The pregnancy went perfectly. No one had seen a lovelier mother to be. Both parents were happy and looking forward to a child to liven up the somber walls of Windhelm. Vika appeared prettier everyday as if she glowed from within.

Then early one morning, about nine months into the pregnancy, she knocked on her parent's door asking for her mother. Doubled over in pain and drenched in sweat, Brynjolf took one look at his daughter and lifted her into his arms. Together they carried her back to her room. When he lifted her into the bed, he noticed the blood on the sheet, soaking the back of her gown and the blood on his sleeve. Brynjolf set her on the bed as if she were precious cargo and dropped to his knees.

"Lass…"

Ingun fled the room and returned with the court mage and a tray full of bottles, jars and a mortar and pestle.

She tried to smile, but the cramps hit her and she reached for him. "Da, I don't know what's happening to me.

"Everything will be okay, daughter."

"Is Ralof back from the Imperial City?"

"No, lass. The messenger said he was delayed because of the weather."

"Da, if I die. Please tell him…"

"You won't die. You can't," Brynjolf gathered her up in his arms and helped her through the pain. When she cried out, he rocked her like a child, when she wept he used a cold cloth to keep her face cool. He kept talking to her to keep her mind of what Ingun and the Mage were doing.

Not even her attempt to smile could calm the rising fear as he watched her face drain of color. Light and thin in his arms he held her tighter to keep her from floating away. He could not have said how he might live without her presence in his life, but it was happening, she was dying in his arms. Burning, painful emotion boiled out of his chest and Brynjolf groaned against her hair. He had no idea how long he stayed that way, holding her in his arms. The alternative of letting her go and facing her death was unbearable.

A hand on his shoulder, "Bryn, she's just asleep. Look, it's a fine boy." Into his arms, Ingun placed a small bundle that was his grandson.

Eyes opened in a tiny wizened face. Then he screwed up his face and sneezed. The sound made him laugh. Then looking around he found Brynjolf's thumb and began to suck on the end.

Brynjolf let go of the air stuck in his chest and released a shuddering breath of relief. Next to him, Ingun wrapped her arms around her husband. "It's okay. We stopped the bleeding and here's our first grandchild. He's healthy and beautiful."

"Aye, lass. That he is."

"Da?" A faint voice turned his attention to his daughter. "Can I see my baby?"

Brynjolf carefully held up the newborn.

"Ma? Should I nurse him now?"

"I don't know why not, if it would give you some peace. Please hear me, both of you. Vika, you lost so much blood. We'll feed you good meat and broth and fatten you up again. But it might take a while for you to recover."

"I understand, Ma. I feel like I could sleep for a year. Please let me hold him."

Brynjolf watched Ingun pull the sheet aside and lay the little boy next to his mother's breast. Vika yelped in surprise when the hungry little boy latched on to her nipple.

"That's a good sign, Vika."

Brynjolf didn't hear anything else, because the sight of his daughter nursing her first child brought tears to his eyes that he didn't bother trying to wipe away. The same thing happened to him when he watched Ingun nurse Sigurd. By the Nine, he was turning into an emotional old man. Brynjolf stumbled from the room in search of a cup of mead and found Delvin waiting for him in the war room. Brynjolf didn't hesitate to allow Delvin to embrace him.

"Ye always were a sentimental old softie, Brynjolf. Saving one lost animal after another and bringing 'em down to the Ratway to nurse back to health." Then in a choked voice he murmured, "I'm so proud of you, Bryn…As if you were my own."

"Then let's go find some mead, you sentimental old man. We'll need some fortification for our grandfather duties."

"I hope Vika will let me hold her son. Ingun lets me hold, Sigurd. Did I tell you that?"

That had all happened three months ago. It was spring again and Brynolf turned from the window to see his daughter nursing his grandson and felt the tears start all over again. Tears of joy were a strange thing for a orphaned master thief raised to a life of crime...

~o0o~


End file.
